


The Demoted

by Xendell



Series: World of The Demoted [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drama, F/F, Gen, Gritty, Hints of Mercymaker, Lots of Unrequited Love, Manipulation, Romance, Slow Build, Some existentialism I suppose, Trauma, evil Lena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 76,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xendell/pseuds/Xendell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overwatch has been disbanded, and funds are running out. Through no fault of her own, Lena finds her chronal accelerator damaged and Winston unable to maintain its upkeep. With no means to uphold her anchor in time, Lena turns to desperate measures to save her own life; and responds to an invitation from Talon.<br/>[ Widowtracer ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 The first time she saw the light on the device on her chest flicker, she didn't think much of it. A screw here, a new wire there, five minutes with Winston and it would be good as new. Lena Oxton, nicknamed Tracer and proud owner of a unique chronal accelerator, let her fingers run over the smooth metal, tapping the sides of the device until the humming sound returned to its familiar tone. A quick look over her shoulder confirmed that the area was clear, and she blinked out of cover, ready to get back into the fray.

 The second time the device actually sputtered and halted for a good second before starting up again, a high-pitched, screeching sound coming from within. It had been late to the point of early, and Tracer was sleeping soundly until the noise tore her from her slumber. She jolted up, breathing hard - for a second completely convinced it was just a nightmare. As she slowly looked down at her chest, the light from the accelerator, the only thing keeping her anchored in her own time, was dim and weak. The whining sound was still audible over her heavy breathing. It took a couple seconds for the realization to dawn on her that something was very wrong. She scrambled out of bed, fighting the covers that tangled around her legs.

 

'Ah, bloody hell,' Lena muttered as she rolled on the hardwood floor, forcefully shoving the covers off. There were clothes and personal belongings strewn about the floor of her small apartment. It only had one room, with a narrow window to the west, looking out over the outskirts of London. On the other side was a small, old-fashioned kitchen with a single compact cupboard, filled to the brim with crisps and instant noodles, and a mini-fridge. Yesterday's takeout was thrown carelessly in the sink, to be thrown out later. There were cups and dirty dishes on the dusty kitchen counter. In the room was one reclining chair, a definitely well-loved chair that had obviously seen many homes before this one. The brown leather on the seat and armrests had been worn out, leaving holes and scuffmarks all over it. The delicately curved wooden legs of the chair had been chewed and abused by pets of the previous owners. Apparently the chair had even survived an attack with a knife, which had left a deep gash down the back rest. Mercy had stitched it back up, more for Lena's amusement than for her own conviction that it would help the chair last longer. Lena was strangely attached to her chair, probably because it had an unusual history, like her.

 

Most of the space in the room was taken up by the bed. It was a spacious bed for one person, wider than usual. The metal frame was simple, but sturdy. More clothes had been carelessly thrown onto the foot end of the bed, except for Lena's trademark leather jacket, which hung from one of the corner pillars of the bed's metal frame. Lena fumbled about, feeling under the bed with both hands, then inspecting the mattress and piled-on clothes. Her fingers closed around smooth metal and with a gleeful 'Ha!' she pulled her phone out from under a pair of jeans. She dialed Winston's number, and pressed speaker function so she could put the phone down and clamber up on the bed. The phone rang several times before the line connected and Lena was greeted with a very tired-sounding 'Tracer?'

'Winston, is that you?' Lena chirped. 'I need your help, love!'

'Honestly Lena, do you know what time it is?' Winston growled, obviously not really mad at her. He had never been one for regular sleeping rhythms either, anyway.

'Oh, did I wake ya?' Lena giggled. Winston's grunt in response confirmed her suspicions that he had in fact not been sleeping.

'What's the matter?' Winston asked, suddenly serious. Lena took a second to exhale before she answered.

'It's my chronal accelerator. It's been acting up and tonight it really looked like it was gonna give up on me for a sec there,' Lena sighed as she glanced downwards at the pulsing device on her chest. 'Still doesn't quite _sound_ right, too. Gave me a bit of a startle. '

'I can imagine,' Winston answered, concern clearly audible in his voice. 'Come on down as soon as you can. I'll see what I can do.'

 

The Overwatch post, or what was left of it anyway, was an underground facility hidden as the backyard of an antique shack on private property. Lena jumped over the closed fence, blinking did have its advantages after all, and swung open the half unhinged door to the cabin. Under the carpet was a high-tech latch door, smooth black metal clashing horribly with the rest of the dusty interior. She pressed her hand to a scanner until the latch made a beeping sound and a robotic voice said 'Tracer identified.' The metallic clank under the latch indicated that it had been unlocked, and with some effort Lena pulled the heavy latch open. After lowering herself on the metal staircase, the latch closed behind her, sliding back into the lock.

The outpost was different from how she remembered it. Instead of stark white, brightly lit hallways, the lights were dimmed, some seemed broken. Dust gathered in the corners of the otherwise pristine rooms. As she traversed the maze of offices and meeting rooms, Lena noticed a distinct lack of people at work. Computers had been removed or broken open to use for parts. Paperwork was stacked up and on and under the cabinets, as if people had been looking for vital documents in a hurry and left. She rounded the left corner and knocked on the door to Winston's lab. Because she saw light coming from within, she stepped in, calling out for her old friend. 'Winston? You there?'

'Over here,' was the grunted reply from the large, round computer station on the other side of the room. Where usually Athena, Winston's VI assistant, was brightly displayed over several screens, now only one screen was lit. An old desk lamp illuminated the workspace, instead of the lamps overhead. Winston was working on a portable shield, but it gave errors and high-pitched warning sounds as he tried to turn it on. He straightened his glasses before smiling at the girl approaching him. 'Good to see you, Lena.'

'You too,' Lena beamed back. Then her face fell a bit as she crossed her arms and asked, 'what happened here, anyway? It looks like a dump. And that's saying something, if you've seen my apartment.'

'I have, in fact, seen your apartment,' Winston grinned, 'but yes, you're right.' He sighed deeply before continuing. 'It's been a struggle to keep everything running, Lena. I won't bore you with the details, it's none of your concern anyway-' Lena snorted at that.

'None of my concern? Love, you've _gotta_ be joking.' She blinked across the room to retrieve a chair and sat down next to her friend. 'Is there anything I can do?'

'Not right now, I'm afraid,' Winston shook his head in defeat. 'Ever since Overwatch was disbanded, the government had been trying to cut off our resources. Lately, they have succeeded, leaving us with no funds and no materials. We're cutting back the costs of everything, but soon we'll run out.'

'What does that mean? Where will you go?' Lena asked, her eyes wide with concern. Winston returned her gaze with a gloomy expression.

'I'm afraid the more important question is; where will _you_ go, Lena, when I no longer have the means to maintain your accelerator?'

 

She'd thought about it. She'd thought about it often in quiet moments or in the heat of battle, those kinds of thoughts you can't really stop even though you want them to. The kinds of thoughts that shoot images of your worst fears through your mind even though you never asked for them.

The kinds of thoughts that reminded her of being lost in time. Swimming, drowning, existing in nothingness or not existing in the muddled quicksand that was time. The kind of thoughts that would send icy chills down her spine.

She'd considered dying a trivial issue. She was a military woman, a pilot, trained and drilled with always that thought in mind; _you could die_. And then the Slipstream happened and suddenly dying seemed like a considerably more humane option than being trapped in non-existence. When one dies, at least they're at rest. Maybe they even get to see their loved ones again, who knows. But non-existence is just that, it's a feeling of being without purpose, watching time twirl and spin and wrap around itself until everything is a blur.

She chewed on the inside of her lip as Winston tinkered with her accelerator, leaning back in her chair and trying not to move, so as to not disturb him. She did not know what would become of her if the accelerator eventually failed. She had never been in the Slipstream long enough to fully realize its effects on her, but she assumed time would still have some sort of influence on her. Eventually, she would die, even in non-existence, right?

'Winston?' she asked in a timid voice. 'What influence does the chronal accelerator have on me?'

'It anchors you in time,' Winston answered, clearly trained for this answer, as if he'd explained a thousand times. Lena shook her head in response.

'I know that. I mean, what side effects does it have? When will I start to notice?'

Winston crinkled his brow at that, and pushed his glasses back onto his wide nose. He gave her a piercing glaze, which she returned proudly. She didn't want him to pity her.

'As a scientist, I loathe to say I don't yet know,' Winston decided to reply. 'I have some suspicions, but nothing confirmed. If only I had more resources, we could run tests on your aging process and check if that is all proceeding normally. I have yet to see any signs of increased aging, but I can't tell what's going on at a cellular level by simply looking at you.' He clicked a panel of the accelerator back in place and smiled when it hummed healthily. 'For now, you should be good.'

'Thank you, love,' Lena smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Winston picked up on it, but decided not to ask.

'I will gather whatever materials I can to save them for your next checkup. Keep an eye on that accelerator, I made some provisional repairs, but it's not like my... usual quality.'

'Will do. I'm just glad I'm good to go again.'

'Call me whenever you need help,' Winston reassured her as he walked her to the door. 'Oh, and if you leave, best take the west exit. You don't want to be near Mercy's station right now.'

'Why?'

'I told you, resources are sparse. We ran out of anesthetics weeks ago.' As if on cue, a hoarse cry filled the hallways, echoing faintly before dying down.

 

There was absolutely nothing heroic about missions. Briefing, meeting point, open fire, protect the asset, debrief. Wash the blood from your hands when you get home. Lena felt bitter as she slumped behind cover. A deep gash ran over the side of her accelerator where a bullet had grazed it. She checked it for other damage, but it seemed to be superficial. Gritting her teeth, she rolled over and opened fire. Blinking over the battlefield, she took down Talon terrorists hiding behind their cars. Her comm whirred before Winston's voice croaked in her ear.

'Sniper, on top of the red building. Be on your guard.' Lena cursed under her breath and rolled behind a pillar.

'Could've said that earlier, Winston,' she breathed in the comm, 'I was wondering who almost hit me.'

From the corner of her eye, she saw the glitter of metal against the bright sunlight on the rooftop over the square. The shining black of the rifle barrel tilted to the side, picking off Overwatch agents with deadly precision. _Bingo._ Lena couldn't help but smirk as she zipped upwards, a flurry of blue, hastily moving towards her target.

 

_Une, deux, trois,_ Widowmaker counted in her head as she fired her rounds. Three agents went down, almost simultaneously. She scanned the field, but a sudden silence was the only thing that filled it. Narrowing her eyes, she activated her visor and looked closer. That annoying scout had been hiding just a second ago, where did she run off to-

'Lookin' for me?' A giggle behind her. Widowmaker quickly rolled over, for a fraction of a second looking straight at the barrel of a compact handgun, kicking out her legs as she dodged the shot and opened fire of her own. Tracer blinked in and out of reach, laughing as she went, pressing forward. Widowmaker was slowly but surely pushed backwards, until she felt the edge of the roof with the back of her heel. Gritting her teeth, she considered her options; keep firing until the nuisance leaves, press forward, or -

An unexpected kick to the stomach made the decision for her. She gasped for air, clutching her torso as her knees buckled and she tumbled backwards down the roof. On pure instinct, she deployed her grapple in mid-air and grabbed on to the building across the street, changing her falling direction to a swinging motion. With a snakelike movement of her muscular body, she swung up and landed gracefully on the roof, a good ten meters from where Tracer stood, the chasm that was the street dividing them.

'So rude,' Widowmaker sneered, 'but pointless.' Her voice was strangely calm for someone who'd just escaped death by falling.

'Would ya rather have some bullets then, love?' Tracer beamed, holding both her handguns at the ready. In response, Widowmaker raised her rifle with a smirk.

'You'd be dead before you pulled the trigger, _choupette._ Besides,' Widowmaker made sure to visibly lower her rifle to aim it at Tracer's chest, 'you are a walking bullseye, just begging to be shot.'

'Don't you dare!' Tracer cried, charging up and blinking across the divide, going in for the closer range, where she was at the advantage. She managed to kick away Widowmaker's rifle, but then Widowmaker retaliated with a brutal right hook, which she narrowly dodged. She couldn't dodge the armored boot that followed however, and felt a rib crack on the left side of her body. She gasped, and that was all the opportunity the sniper needed. Tracer was thrown on her back, one hand pinned by Widowmaker's knee, the other one held above her head. Widowmaker had gotten hold of one of her handguns and pressed it harshly against her throat. She chuckled in a low voice as the brunette writhed in vain.

'Always a pleasure hunting you, Tracer,' Widowmaker whispered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. 'Ever so nice of you to let us take what we need.' She leaned back slightly so Tracer could see the field below, where Talon agents were gathering in large numbers, pushing back the thinned-out Overwatch forces. Tracer's eyes widened, and she mouthed a defying 'no!'. Widowmaker pushed the gun harder against Tracer's slender neck.

'However, I'm afraid my time to chit-chat is running out.' Now the smile truly broke through and turned into a wicked grin. 'And as for _yours...´_

Without so much as even blinking, Widowmaker clicked the safety off of the handgun, aimed at the bright blue target on Tracer's chest, and pulled the trigger.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lena remembered the pain. She remembered the fear as the gun, her own gun, was aimed at her chest instead of her face. Above her, the stark white ceiling was dimly illuminated. She felt a cool hand on her forehead, and with a lot of effort opened her eyes and tried to look around.

'Winston, she's coming to.' Angela Ziegler, Overwatch's doctor otherwise known as Mercy, had a soft, but stern voice. Today, mixed in with her normal confidence was a hint of concern.

'There's nothing we can do, unless you want to physically knock her out,' Winston's deep voice answered, outside of Lena's field of vision.

'Unacceptable. How am I supposed to operate like this?'

'Wha-what's going on-?' Lena tried to say, but she was hushed by Mercy, who gently stroked her cheek and made sure she stayed put.

'How much time do we have, Angela?'

'Not much. She's bleeding profusely, and we'll need to work on that rib, as well.' A deep sigh. 'Not to mention the metal shrapnel.. Winston, it's bad.'

Lena groaned as she noticed how heavy her breathing was. Determined not to get distracted by her doctor's hand on her face, she craned her neck to look at herself. Everything she saw was red, a bloodied mess with something that barely even resembled her chronal accelerator in the middle. She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut forcefully, trying to focus on not panicking.

'Lena,' Winston's voice was dark and heavy with dread. 'Can you hear me?' Lena nodded in response, gasping for air. 'Good,' Winston said again, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. 'Listen carefully, Lena. I have a plan. I'm going to remove your chronal accelerator-'

'What?' Lena yelped, the shock sending another rolling wave of pain through her body. 'No, no no no! You can't do that!' She was held down by, she assumed, Angela, who had planted both hands on her shoulders and stood behind the headrest of the bed.

'Listen!' Winston growled, 'It might be our only chance to save you. You'll fade out of this time, but it will buy us time. When I bring you back, we can operate on you. This could work, Lena!'

'Lena, this might be for the best.' Angela agreed. She gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Lena considered it, for one long moment. But then she opened her eyes, looking at her two friends and colleagues, and resolutely shook her head.

'I'd rather die. Work on the accelerator first.'

The silence stretched on as Winston and Angela exchanged worried looks. It was the doctor who caved first.

'Very well. In that case, Lena, I will be operating on you while Winston works. Time is of the essence.' Lena exhaled through the pain, suddenly relieved. 'Thank you,' she smiled.

' _Unglaublich._ We're out of gloves, too.' Angela's voice seemed a bit more distant as she searched half empty cabinets for the equipment she needed. 'This is the absolute last operation I can perform here, Winston. If anything goes wrong...' she trailed off. Winston merely grunted in response, then looked at Lena with a face that said _I hope you're happy_ as he collected his electrical equipment.

'Where will you start?'

'The bullet wound,' Angela said as she put on the very last pair of medical gloves. 'Then the rib. Lena, you are aware-'

'I am aware. No anesthetic left.' Lena braced herself. 'Do it.'

 

'When exposed to extreme stress, the brain forces itself into a state that is usually referred to as _survival mode_. This stress can be caused by fear, pain, bloodloss, or any other stimulus that might activate this evolutionary instinct. Survival mode only keeps the vital functions of the body active and shuts down all others. Next to that, it removes inhibitions normally placed on muscle activity, allowing for greater muscle force within all parts of the body.' A slender man, tall with dark hair and a black suit gestured as he gave his guest a tour of the facility. 'In layman's terms, a person in survival mode will be faster, stronger, and think quicker. These are qualities we value very much in our employees.' He opened a metal door, ignoring the "personnel only" sign, and gestured for his guest to follow as they treaded deeper into the facility. As the other passed him, he gave a smile that was charming, but clearly practiced. The guest, a shorter, chubby middle aged man with thinning mousy brown hair and an old-fashioned set of glasses, fiddled with his jacket for a second before proceeding into a long, gray corridor. On the left side, several windows were built in. Though he could see into the adjacent rooms, he could not hear a single noise coming from them. Most rooms had a single metal chair in the middle, but the walls were built full of complicated looking machines. On one side was a table, mostly empty, except for some scattered equipment. The rooms were spotless, blindingly bright white.

The dark haired man gestured for his guest to follow him. 'With the right technology, our _revolutionary_ technology, we can make use of this state of mind and use it to enhance the performances of our employees. So far results have been more than promising. Productivity and accuracy ratings of our employees have gone up by-'

'Doesn't this seem ..unethical, to you?' The middle aged man interrupted. 'I cannot imagine that deliberately inflicting such stress on your employees is in accordance with the law.'

'Of course,' the dark haired man replied, a smarmy smile on his face, 'one would think that. Please note that our organization pays the utmost respect to regulations. You will find, as we proceed, that our methods are most humane.' The dark haired man looked up at the sound of heels clicking on the other side of the corridor. 'Ah, just on time. Sir, would you come with me? I would like to introduce you to one of our top-ranking employees of the military division.' The dark haired man held out a welcoming hand to the woman approaching them, clad in a purple bodysuit that clung to her every curve. Her hair had been tied in a ponytail that swayed with her as she moved. As she approached, it became apparent that her complexion was not a trick of the light, but she was tinged an unhealthy-looking blue. The middle aged man gulped audibly. She was at least a head taller than him.

'Minister, meet one of the first volunteers for our program.' The dark haired man stepped back politely as the minister shook the woman's hand.

'Widowmaker,' she said, the French accent thick on her lips. The minister's eyes widened slightly.

'A nickname,' the dark haired man supplied, 'to protect the identity of those who were willing to aid us in this groundbreaking research. Widowmaker here is at the top of her division, with unparalleled accuracy and over a hundred confirmed kills.'

'Very impressive,' the minister nodded, 'I would like to see her in action.' His eyes strayed from Widowmaker's emotionless face down her body.

'There will be time for all of that, of course, minister. However I am _certain_ you will understand we cannot give you a full demonstration without first discussing a non-disclosure agreement as well as the _financial_ matters.'

'Yes, yes of course,' the minister replied, tearing his gaze away from the purple bodysuit. 'I understand.'

'You will find Talon's conditions for the contract most favorable, I assure you. Please, right this way.' The minister nodded at Widowmaker in greeting as he followed his host into a room into the end of the corridor. The minister, who considered himself a clever and attentive man, opted to inquire about Widowmaker's extraordinary appearance, and did not notice the door lock closing behind him.

 

Winston tried very hard to listen. He rubbed his eyes and sat up straight and nodded 'yes' and he just couldn't.

'It is an absolute miracle she is even still alive at this point, Winston. I can't believe you'd keep us here, you'd still send her out there knowing this could happen. Knowing this eventually _would_ happen!'

'Angela, please-' Winston tried to interject, but was cut off by an aggravated Mercy, pacing around the room. She emphasized her every word with curt, jerky gestures of her shaking hands.

'Don't "Angela please" me! This has gone on for far too long! Do you even realize what Fareeha had to go through when-"

' _Please. Angela._ ' Winston growled, louder this time. He pulled a chair closer. 'I hear you. Now sit. You've been operating for 20 hours straight and you need to _sit down_.' The doctor stopped in her tracks, looked at the chair and suddenly her face vaguely resembled that of a lost child. Sighing, she sat down, resting her face in her hands.

'We can't go on like this, Winston. The girl will be traumatized for life,' Angela rubbed her tired eyes. 'I still stand by my point that we should have called an ambulance right away.'

The silence stretched long between them. The blonde doctor rubbed her throbbing temples while Winston thought.

'We couldn't. All it would have done was get Lena in trouble for being involved in illegal Overwatch activity,' he finally said, thinking over each word and choosing it carefully. He knew it would not take much for Angela to get upset again, tired and emotionally exhausted as they both were. 'Maybe they would not even have had the skill to pull off the miracle you just pulled off,' he slyly added, hoping the compliment would make his colleague feel a little better. Judging from the smile ghosting over her features, he assumed it had worked.

'They would have asked questions about the bullet wound,' she concurred.

'They would have,' Winston nodded. 'Not to mention the accelerator. First thing they would have done is take it off.' As soon as the words left his mouth, Winston feared he had made a mistake. Angela glared at him from between her fingers. He knew what she would say, what an infinitely better option that would have been, how it would have saved Lena all this pain and trauma, how they would have been better prepared-

Instead, Angela sighed and shook her head. 'That is not what she wanted.' A moment of silence passed before she continued, more to herself than Winston. 'I will never carry out treatment against a patient's will. Even if that patient is the incredibly foolish, stubborn, reckless Lena Oxton.'

'You should get some rest.' Winston said quietly, tenderly putting his large hand on her knee. Angela nodded.

'I'll just go and check on her first.'

'Angela, please-' Winston tried, but he was immediately cut off.

'Say "Angela please" again, _verdammt noch mal_ ,' she hissed, but Winston wasn't having any of it. He gave her knee a reassuring squeeze.

'Promise?' he smiled. She nodded in defeat. 'I promise. Five minutes and then I'm going to bed.'

 

One would think that a man, above average height, muscular in build and clad in heavy leather and armored boots would not be able to approach silently on a metal walkway. One would feel like that man would have made some sort of sound, like the heavy thud of boots on metal, or the clanging of the vibrations through the metal walkway, or the chattering of the chains of ammunition he wore around his torso. However Reaper approached without a sound, his black cape billowing behind him, his body leaving behind a smoky black aura that seemed to constantly emanate from him. And Widowmaker would surely have felt surprise or fear at this sight, had she usually felt anything at all. But Widowmaker didn't feel a thing, and Reaper didn't make a sound.

'Why didn't you dispatch me?' she asked, accusingly, when Reaper was close enough. He did not stop walking to talk to her, so she turned on her heel and followed him.

'No need. Overwatch is but a shadow of what it used to be. We did not even suffer casualties.'

'So you'd rather have me sit in a two-by-two room with no windows until you get back.' Widowmaker managed to sound offended enough to make Reaper slightly tilt his head towards her.

'You'll get your chance. As soon as I have the data on their locations, we can start picking off the remaining members,' he pretended to be aiming a rifle while he walked, illustrating his statement, large strides never faltering. 'I'll be more than happy to watch you put a bullet between their eyes.'

'Good,' Widowmaker answered, apparently content with this. Reaper chuckled under his mask. 'Anything else?'

' _Pas du tout,'_ she stated flatly. After a few more strides, Reaper suddenly stopped and turned towards the woman, taking her chin between his index finger and thumb and turning her face from side to side, as if he was inspecting her for flaws.

'Again with the French,' he mused, for a second thoughtful. She did not reply, and instead passively returned his gaze. Reaper then clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he let go.

'Make sure you get another treatment. I can't have you get distracted by memories you don't need.'

 

'Goodbye, Lena. See you next week.'

'Bye, Angie. Thanks for everything,' Lena carefully stretched out on her bed, waving at Mercy as she closed the door to Lena's apartment behind her. She winced as a sharp pain stabbed her in the side, under her freshly changed bandages. Two months had gone by since her incident, as Winston called it, but Lena liked to put it as it was. It had been two months since she _died._

By some force she did not quite understand she had not actually died though, so that made for two miraculous recoveries in her frankly short lifetime so far. She knew she was supposed to feel grateful, but she wasn't. There was not a night where she didn't dream of being shot, where she didn't dream of choosing death over nothingness and the consequences that choice would have. Sometimes, the memory of Angela's horrified expression as she grabbed tighter onto her scalpel scared her more than the memory of what followed. Sometimes, she was reminded of the endless days she had spent in a hospital bed in the half-abandoned Overwatch base, in too much pain to move, with only the bare walls to keep her company.

She absentmindedly rubbed the electrical tape that held one side of her chronal accelerator together. It flickered and whined constantly now, and refused to perform any of the tricks she'd been so used to doing. She would have been worried about it, if she'd had the strength to still feel worried about anything. It was not like Winston could help her now the base had been shut down completely.

Lena wondered which would give out first, her body or her time. Angela had told her not to punish herself with these thoughts, but some thoughts refuse to be commanded. Taking deep breaths, she carefully hoisted herself out of bed and towards the window. Angela had planted her leather chair near the windowsill so she could sit and look at the city. It made for a nice change of scenery from the stained ceiling above her bed. Pulling her knees up, carefully so as to not hurt herself, Lena sat down and leaned her elbow on the windowsill, face resting on her palm. She sighed deeply.

The sun dipped slowly below the horizon as she watched the lights of the buildings on the skyline of London light up. Right below her window was a tiny balcony, not even half a meter wide, which was mostly occupied by empty storage crates that had been owned by previous tenants. Lena reached up towards the window and pulled it open with one hand, allowing a cool breeze to flow into the room. Police sirens echoed faintly through the streets.

She wondered how long she'd feel like this. The emptiness that came with everything she'd endured. The bitterness that grew each day that she realized that it all had been for nothing. That Overwatch had been shut down, even though she'd fought and _died_ for the good cause. That soon she'd be killed again anyways when her chronal accelerator would give out for good. She bit her lip hard, trying not to cry about the unfairness of it all.

A sudden thundercrack shook her out of her thoughts, and Lena scrambled up to close the window before any rain would get inside - when she suddenly heard the sound again and realized it was gunfire. Her breath froze in her throat and she felt her heart beat hard in her chest. There was fear, there was terrible fear that she did not want to feel at all but all she could do was try to swallow the lump in her throat.

She saw a shadow fall from the roof of her apartment before she heard the crack of breaking wood. A slender figure got up from between the broken crates, an annoyed hiss coming from between elegant lips. When the woman uprighted herself, Lena recognized the feminine curves as Widowmaker.

A deer in headlights did not even come close to how she felt. Lena still held on to the window she'd been trying to close, her hand clenching so hard she did no longer feel her fingers. She tried not to breathe, not to move, not to _exist_ as she stared hard at Widowmaker's back, still turned to her, and silently prayed to whatever god she could think of that the assassin would not turn around. For about two seconds, it worked. Then Widowmaker abruptly turned around, visor closed, rifle raised and ready to shoot. Lena thought she'd cry, but she didn't, she could not even move. She closed her eyes and accepted the end, truly accepted it this time, even feeling some relief.

When death did not come for her after several seconds, she opened her eyes. Before her stood Widowmaker, her visor opened, her eyes widened in astonishment. When her gaze caught Lena's, she lowered her rifle.

'You're not dead,' she stated, her voice betraying confusion. Lena felt like her chest was slowly being frozen, like ice was creeping out from her heart to her stomach and to her legs and arms and hands and she couldn't move, couldn't look away.

'Yes,' she replied, her voice barely audible. With one step and one agile jump, Widowmaker launched herself through Lena's window, grabbing Lena's shoulders and pushing them both to the ground. Lena cried out in pain as she was flung down on the wooden boards and all of Widowmaker's weight was pushed on top of her. Immediately her face was janked closer to the assassin's by the collar of her shirt.

'You're _not dead_!' Widowmaker exclaimed, louder this time, the disbelief so apparent that it made Lena nervously chuckle. The next instant, all she could think about was the last time Widowmaker had pinned her down, and crying uncontrollably seemed like a very appealing option. As she gazed up at the woman on top of her however, all she could do was try to breathe.

After what seemed like an eternity, Widowmaker loosened her grip and let Lena rest her head on the floor. She tilted her head from side to side, inspecting the Brit's face, and then leaned back, letting go of Lena's collar completely.

'You look ' _orrible_ ,' she concluded.

'Well,' Lena exclaimed, affronted beyond belief, 'I wonder whose fault that is!' Widowmaker's fingertips slid over Lena's face down to the damaged device on her chest, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Lena briefly considered biting her, but decided against it. Widowmaker had not killed her yet. She'd already survived longer than last time. As she realized that, she felt a surge of determination to survive this night as well. To survive many more after that. This woman will not be the end of me.

The gunfire outside drew closer and Widowmaker snapped her head back to the window, cursing under her breath. In one fluid motion she picked up her rifle and got on her feet. She was already halfway out the window when she stopped to look at Lena once more, who could only give her a wide-eyed stare back.

' _Au revoir_ , _chérie.'_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the overwhelmingly good response to this story <3 Next chapter might be slightly late because I got invited to a couple Overwatch PR events, so, just a heads-up.

Angela had only just arrived home, set down her bag and her groceries and settled herself on the couch when her phone rang. She leaned her head back and groaned as the annoying buzz echoed through the otherwise silent room. She had long work hours in the emergency room she'd started working at after the Overwatch satellite base in London had been shut down indefinitely, and besides that she visited Lena on the other side of town once a week to track her progress. It was a labor of love, but it was labor nonetheless and she'd very much been looking forward to spending a quiet evening with a glass of wine, her favorite magazine and no outside disturbances. The buzzing of her phone stopped, and she exhaled slowly. Maybe, just maybe, she could let it slide for today.

The buzzing picked up again, as if with increased fervor. Angela sighed as she caved, and stood up to grab her phone from her bag.

'Angela Ziegler speaking,' she said into the phone, without checking the caller id. She could hear distinct sobbing on the other side of the line.

'She was _here_!' Lena cried in a raised, panicked voice, 'Angie she was here and now she's gone and I don't know what to do!'

'Lena?'

'Angie, please, come pick me up, I need to get out of here as soon as possible,' Lena cried into her phone, her voice little more than a continuous slur of words interjected with sniffling hiccups.

'Lena, _liebe_ , please try to calm down,' Angela said soothingly, 'Let me get my car keys.' She couldn't help herself when her eyes darted longingly to the bottle of wine on the table.

'Angie, what if she comes back? What do I do?' Lena's voice was shrill to the point of breaking.

'Who comes back, dear?' Angela asked as she fumbled her hand through her handbag, trying to find her keys. Lena's voice was a desperate wail when she answered. 'Widowmaker, Angie!' She was hyperventilating and shaking so hard it was clearly audible through the phone, and the doctor suddenly stiffened, her eyes wide in shock.

'What?!' Angela cursed, louder than she'd intended. 'Stay put, Lena. I'm picking you up. Don't hang up the phone until I'm there.'

The bottle of wine was left forgotten on the salon table.

 

'She's _alive!'_ Widowmaker shouted, uncharacteristically worked up, as she slammed both her hands down on the table. She was breathing through gritted teeth as she paced back and forth before Reaper's desk, with balled fists and shaking shoulders and her eyes narrowed in anger.

'You're either losing your touch or losing your mind,' Reaper sighed, leaning back in his chair, impatiently tapping his fingertips on the desk surface. 'Either way, you'd be useless to me.'

'You do not believe me?' she challenged him, pointing at him over his desk, her eyes narrowed in fury. 'I saw her! She was beat up and bloody, that infernal teleportation device of her hanging on by a thread, but she was breathing and speaking and _not as I left her._ '

'Hold on,' Reaper held up a finger as his interest was piqued. 'So you're saying Tracer survived, but was in bad shape?'

' _Oui_ ,' Widowmaker breathed in response, calming a little now she that she felt she was taken seriously.

'Her confirmed death aside, with regular Overwatch care any wounded should have been up and running after four weeks maximum, as we've seen them treat their agents in the past,' Reaper continued, more stating the facts to himself than to her. 'So that says something about their state of healthcare. It's not good. That's good for us.' He nodded to himself approvingly. 'And the chronal accelerator?'

'As if repaired by a child. She didn't move quite as fast, either.'

'Very interesting,' Reaper murmured, turning around and booting up a large computer screen. On the screen were several lists of identified and exterminated targets, as well as a large map. He inputted some codes to bring up Tracer's information. Reading over it, breathing slowed, he suddenly nodded.

'Very well,' he began, turning back to Widowmaker, grabbing a delicately printed letter from under his desk as well as penning down a short message on a notepad. 'Listen carefully, because I'm going to need you to do several things. Write what I've written here under this letter,' he gestured towards the ornamented black pen on the desk and the letter he'd just printed. Widowmaker thought she could feel his eyes narrow behind his mask as he caught her confused gaze.

'Are you going to be difficult?' He asked, his voice deeper, more dangerous than before.

'No,' she shook her head, took up the pen and copied the message on the notepad onto the letter.

'Put your name under it,' Reaper gestured again, as he put up more information on Tracer on the wide screen, 'and make sure you go in for treatment tonight.'

'Why?' Widowmaker muttered under her breath, doing as she was told. Reaper did not turn to look at her.

'So Tracer knows it's you,' he said, devoid of any emotion, 'and also so you don't come crying to me every time another Overwatch member doesn't turn up _quite as dead_ as you thought they were.'

 

'It's hopeless, Lena,' Winston grunted, two different screwdrivers in his hand, bent over the chronal accelerator strapped to Lena's chest. 'To fully repair it I need to build you completely new parts, almost start from scratch... if only we still had at least one fully funded lab, it would be possible.' He shook his head, his brows crinkled into a sad frown. 'It'll run, but no blinking for you.'

'It's alright, Winston, you did all you could,' Lena smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently, 'and hey, as long as it works, amirite?' She sat back on the luxurious couch in Angela's home, where she'd been residing ever since that panicked call. It had been a calm couple of weeks, that had slid by in a daze of pleasant experiences.

'It's good to see you smile again,' Winston replied, genuinely relieved. He shifted a bit on his chair, comically large in the modest living room. He saw Lena's gaze jump from his face to a point behind him as Angela put down three cups of tea on the salon table. 'Has Mercy here been treating you nicely?' he asked and Lena let out a chirping laugh at that. Angela muttered, 'as if you ever had any doubts about that,' while gathering milk and sugar to set on the table.

'She has. And her home is lovely,' Lena beamed as the doctor ruffled a hand through Lena's already messy hair as she walked by, 'it's much nicer than mine.'

'That is because Angela actually cleans her home once in a while,' Winston joked, contently sipping his tea.

'I do too!' Lena exclaimed, feigning offense.

'Once in a while is more than once a year,' Winston retorted with a sly smile. Both laughed.

'Don't tease her, Winston,' Angela smiled as she flopped down on the couch next to Lena, and put an arm around her shoulders. 'Time is a difficult concept for her.' A quick wink made Lena go beet red in the face.

'Are you mom-ing me again, Angie?'

'I would _never_.' Angela innocently sipped her tea.

'Sure thing, _mom_.' Lena puffed her cheeks, but then snuggled closer anyways.

'So have you decided yet what you'll do now, Lena?' Winston asked, his intention more curious than trying to put pressure on her. Angela still narrowed her eyes at him, and he tried to inconspicuously shrug at her.

'Naah, I ain't sure yet,' Lena shrugged, folding her knees under her, holding her hot cup of tea close, 'I want to keep on fighting the good fight, but I don't know how.' She smiled, inwardly at first, and then slyly at Angela. 'So far the only good fights I've been a part of are Hana's online matches. And I'm not much good at those, really.' Winston chuckled at that, and Angela petted her hair reassuringly.

'You're not in a state to really start heavy exercising already anyway,' she smiled, 'you're welcome to stay and play videogames with Hana for as long as you like.'

A sound from the door had Lena jerk up, her pupils dilating a fraction from the twinge of fear she felt. Angela squeezed her shoulder, urging her to calm down.

'It's just the mail, Lena,' she nodded at the mailman walking away from the home, visible through the window, 'why don't you go check?' Lena nodded, willing the cold shivers from her spine, and put on her happy face again. She'd stop fearing shadows soon enough. She got up from the couch, and walked through the hallway through the front door, leaving the door ajar. Sure enough, a modest stack of letters was splayed in the mailbox. She went through them one by one, quickly scanning if there was anything Angela would need to know right away. Ads, a medical company, another medical company, two letters from the hospital and taxes. She would have walked away if not for one last envelope in the back of the mailbox. It was a thick cardstock envelope, with a shimmery logo printed in the top right corner. It had no stamp and no return address. The front of the envelope only said "Tracer" in cursive handwriting. She looked around, but the street was empty. A quick glance through the window reassured her that Angela and Winston were conversing intently, a serious look on both their faces.

Lena hesitated. She'd recognized the logo on the envelope immediately, a chunk of ice suddenly in her stomach. There was absolutely no reason Talon would send her mail. The worst part was that because there was no stamp, it meant the letter had been dropped off somewhere this morning. A Talon agent had walked by her hiding place, fully aware she was there, and she had not even noticed. She looked down at the envelope in her trembling hands, and considered tearing it to shreds.

After turning the envelope over again, she tore open the back, revealing expensive-looking paper, with another shimmery logo in the top right corner. It was a standard format letter, and they had not even bothered to fill in the blanks.

 

    _Dear sir/madam [name]_

_Recently we were informed through our mutual connection [name] that you might be interested in [subject]._

_We would therefore, as well as for the reasons mentioned above, like to invite you for a personal discussion on the matter. Time and place will be disclosed in person, as per usual standard regulations._

_We are looking forward to your cooperation,_

_[signature]_

_[name]_

 

Lena's brow furrowed in confusion. Had there been a mistake? Was there supposed to be a threat in here that somehow got mixed up with someone else's business deal? She glanced at the window again. Angela looked very unhappy while Winston was explaining something, gesturing with his hands. Lena looked back at the letter again. Suddenly, she noticed the cursive handwriting at the bottom of the page.

 

_We know your time is running out. We can help. Don't let your life be wasted again._

_Meet me in the place we last clashed, on the rooftop, at midnight._

_\- Widowmaker_

Tears threatening to fall from her eyes, Lena crushed the letter in her fist. She felt like she was being strangled, like an icy grip had taken hold of her, squeezing the air out of her, slowing down the beating of her heart. She took the stack of envelopes and ran back inside the home. She closed the door behind her and twice made sure that it was locked. Then she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The crumpled letter she stuffed in a pocket of her pants. She straightened her back, determined not to let show what had just happened. She'd simply have to relocate again. Perhaps she could casually ask Winston about it. As she approached the living room, Angela's choked voice stopped her before she could open the door.

'So you can't even give an estimate? You're saying it could just be any minute, even right now?'

'You've seen the damage that was done, Angela,' Winston's voice was low and secretive. 'She needs a complete replacement. I am honestly surprised it has held on for as long as it has.'

'So what happens when it gives out?' Angela asked timidly.

'She'll be lost in time again. Except this time, there is nothing I can do to anchor her.'

 

Lena did not want to eavesdrop, but she also did not want to have the conversation that would surely follow if she showed she had heard them. It already felt like the ground was falling away under her feet, hearing Winston say something like that, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to look at the expression that would go with it. She stood there, hesitating, her hand just hovering above the doorknob. She could only stare at her feet as the door was opened from the other side.

'Oh, Lena,' Angela sighed, immediately realizing what had happened, and pulled her into a close embrace. 'Lena, I am so sorry.'

'I got your mail,' Lena said, still staring hard at her feet, her voice so brittle it was barely audible. She felt Angela drag her back to the couch and pull her close, affectionately nuzzling her hair. She returned the embrace weakly, and desperately wanted to believe the words Angela whispered in her ear, that it would be alright, that they would find a way, no matter what.

She wanted to, but all she could feel was hard, cold, numbness.

 

The guestroom in Angela's home was almost empty. A bed and a single chair decorated the simple, but modern interior. Lena had thrown some of her personal belongings about, but she hadn't brought much and she hadn't wanted to return to her own apartment. The window next to the bed gave her a perfect view of the sunset, blood red behind the clouds.

Every so often, suddenly her heart would start throbbing and she would feel fear bubbling up in her chest, when her accelerator whined or when she moved wrong or bumped against it. Lena pulled up her knees to her chest, the letter in her pocket making a faint sound as the paper was crumpled further. For the tenth time that night, she took it out, and read it again. She could read it without trembling now. She was losing the fear. She would lose everything soon, anyway.

She heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, indicating that Angela would be busy for a while. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Lena Oxton decided she was not done for yet.

Desperate times, desperate measures. She slipped downstairs, as silently as she could, and grabbed a pen from the table. She put the letter face-down on the table and quickly scribbled a note.

 

_I'm sorry, Angie. Thank you for everything. Tell Winston he's the greatest. Never give up._

 

Lena bit her lip. There were so many things she'd wanted to say but she had no words to say them. She had no words to describe the way that she felt or to apologize for the mistake she was about to make. After a moment's hesitation, she slammed the pen down and grabbed the car keys that were still on the table. She made a mental note to bring Angela's car back, in the rare event that she'd survive this. A moment later, she slammed the car door shut, and was gone.

By the time Angela came out of the shower, the house was completely silent.

 

Lena had parked the car in the shadows, not far away from the meeting point. The walkway was dimply illuminated by streetlamps, casting their eerie glow down. They did not help to ease the quickening of Lena's heartbeat, or the sweat making her hands sticky. She could see the building she had fought on, more than three months ago. The thought of this being a trap set by Talon, and her willingly walking into it, ghosted through her head. Her accelerator sputtered, as if right on cue. She took a deep breath. No choice. Here we go.

Normally, getting up on the roof would have posed no problem. Blinking, she'd be able to get up there almost entirely without effort. Since blinking was not an option however, she looked for another way. At the end of the street an emergency staircase led spiraling up towards the top floor.

Lena hopped over the fence, less graceful than before, and ascended the metal stairs. With every step, her feet felt more like blocks of lead than functional limbs. Desperately she tried to tell herself that her heavy breathing was from exhaustion, not the dread. At the top of the stairs, she hopped onto a balcony rail so she could grab onto the drainpipe. Grunting, she tried to pull herself up, but a sudden surge of pain made her lose her balance, and she braced for a fall that never came.

'There you are,' a feminine voice whispered. Lena saw more than felt it as Widowmaker held her wrist and pulled her up on the rooftop. Lena knew a thing or two about out-of-body experiences, but it still felt surreal to experience it while still in possession of a physical body.

'Is this a trap?' Lena asked breathlessly as she scrambled to her feet. She heard herself voice the words, and immediately realized how insane it must have sounded. The Frenchwoman apparently agreed, judging by her hearty chuckle.

'Do you want it to be?'

'No, thank you,' Lena mouthed. She nervously dusted off her leggings and adjusted her goggles. 'So, now what?'

Widowmaker only gestured for her to be silent. She looked at the sky, gazing intently at a point on the horizon. Lena took a moment to study her. She would have described her as beautiful if the right word had not been "terrifying". Her skin a misty blue, the dark ponytail sweeping behind her. She could see every muscle rippling under the barely-there bodysuit. For a moment Lena honestly wondered what the point of that suit was because it couldn't possibly be warmth or modesty.

'They are here,' Widowmaker suddenly said, turning back towards Lena. 'Are you ready to go?' The sound of a chopper appeared as if out of nowhere, hovering above them. Lena felt determination above all the emotional turmoil that broiled inside her. She was ready.

'Yes,' she said, looking Widowmaker straight in the eye. A challenging, amused look returned hers. Widowmaker shot up her grappling hook vertically towards the clouds as the chopper came down, connecting it with the landing gear of the aircraft. In a quick, dancer like motion, she pulled the Brit close, hooking her arms around her waist and let the grapple reel in. Lena held on for dear life, her face buried in Widowmaker's neck as she ascended towards the chopper, leaving her courage, her resolve and her stomach all down on that rooftop.

She's wearing perfume, Lena managed to think in the back of her mind as the world grew smaller underneath her feet, why the bloody hell is she wearing perfume?


	4. Chapter 4

Lena was pulled up by her collar into the helicopter, flailing weakly before finding her footing and pulling herself the last bit. She took a second to catch her breath as Widowmaker elegantly landed next to her, apparently having propelled herself up from the landing gear. Lena gave her a sour look, which Widowmaker ignored. She conversed quietly with the Talon agent that had pulled Lena up. It was a muscular man, dressed in black army gear, with a black mask with skull-like features over his face and a rifle slung over his back. The pilot, seated in front, was in similar gear, minus the rifle, which he had lodged beside him. Widowmaker gestured towards him, and the side door of the helicopter closed with a metallic click. As the chopper began to ascend, Lena crawled towards the side door and peered through the large window, pressing the palms of her hands against the glass. She sat there on her knees, looking at the world below and feeling the aircraft smoothly slicing through the sky, and was overcome with the intense feeling of freedom. She felt a surge of happiness swell through her chest. This familiar sensation, this incredible experience. She looked longingly at the pilot’s seat. “Lena Oxton, rising star, not an aircraft she couldn’t fly.” That was before she’d become Tracer. She marveled at the ground below, at its patterns and swirls and all its beauty, and smiled. A hand on the back of her head, gripping her hair, suddenly pressed her face down.

‘There is something in your neck,’ Widowmaker said harshly. Lena’s eyes grew wide, and she tried to feel the collar of her jacket, but was blocked by Widowmaker’s thigh.

‘What?’ she squeaked, trying to turn her face to look around, ‘what is it?’

‘Sedative,’ Widowmaker answered simply as she slammed a syringe into the junction of Lena’s shoulder and neck and emptied it. Lena cried out, clawing at Widowmaker behind her back in vain, but she felt the world slowing down and spinning around, and soon she went limp and slumped against the window.

 

Widowmaker screwed the cap back on the needle and disposed of it properly. The syringe she put back in a small black briefcase, which was filled with various vials, needles and extra syringes. She closed the briefcase and shoved it roughly back in its place under her foldable seat. She ejected the latch from its mechanism and unfolded the seat, gently lowering herself down. The chopper made a wide turn, and the forces pressed Lena’s limp body to lean against her calf. Widowmaker stared at the unconscious girl for a full second, uncertain of what to do, and then agitatedly repositioned her leg, making Lena fall down and lie flat. After another moment’s hesitation, she rested her leg on Lena’s chest. She told herself it was to check if she was still breathing, but really, it was just more comfortable.

The Talon agent in the other corner coughed. Widowmaker narrowed her eyes at him.

‘Should we, uh,’ the agent stammered, clearly disconcerted by Widowmaker’s piercing gaze, ‘should we put her in a stable position? Like, on her side?’ He swallowed thickly. ‘Since she’s unconscious?’

‘What is your name, agent?’ Widowmaker replied, venom dripping from her voice. Over the  intercom speakers, the pilot laughed.

‘Don’t mind him, he’s a rookie,’ his voice sounded metallic and distorted by the noise, ‘besides, I’m pretty sure the girl’s survived worse.’

Widowmaker gestured with her head towards the pilot, one eyebrow mockingly raised, and then gave the rookie a look that said _you heard the guy_. The Talon agent stammered an ‘understood’, and sat up straight, determined not to speak again. Widowmaker watched him closely as he sat, back completely tensed and straightened, hands clammy and trembling around his rifle. She couldn’t see his face, but his voice had been full and young. He couldn’t be older than 25.

‘What’s our ETA?’ she whispered into the intercom. A few seconds later, the pilot replied ‘four minutes.’ A smile tugged at the corner of Widowmaker’s mouth.

‘Tell me, boy,’ she asked, dragging out her words as she turned her attention back to the rookie, ‘have you ever killed a man or is that rifle of yours just for decoration?’ The Talon agent shivered nervously, nodding his head with a little too much enthusiasm.

‘I have, ma’am,’ he said, ‘just once.’ He looked over to see Widowmaker licking her lips, her head thrown back and her eyes closed.

‘Describe to me what it felt like,’ she breathed, arching her body in ways that were _entirely_ unprofessional. The agent snapped his gaze away from her, staring hard at a point in front of him, determined not to look at her. Sweat was pearling on his brow as he tried not to notice her catlike movement from the corner of his eye.

‘It was,’ he sought desperately for the right word as he tried to stay composed, ‘invigorating. Ma’am.’

‘I agree,’ Widowmaker whispered, suddenly close to his ear, and he almost jumped in shock as she straddled him, pressing her elbows next to his head against the dividing wall he was sitting against. She bent forward to press her lips against the shell of his ear, her breath hot against his skin.

‘Shall I tell you the story of how I got my name? It involves an innocent guy like you, and a _very invigorating experience_ -‘

‘Prepare for landing,’ the pilot ordered over the intercom. Widowmaker feigned a pout as she stepped off of the Talon agent, who was flushed red in the face and nervously panting.

‘I guess storytime will have to wait,’ she said, her voice devoid of emotion once more. ‘Get someone to pick up the girl and bring her to me.’ Widowmaker picked up her rifle and gracefully jumped out the aircraft before it had completely touched down. After she was out of hearing distance, the rookie agent let out a shivering breath. He heard the pilot chuckle over the intercom again.

‘Close one, bro,’ the pilot laughed, ‘the last unlucky guy she told that story to spends his time in a coffin nowadays.’

 

‘Please, please, please, pick up the phone, _verdammt noch mal_ ,’ Angela Ziegler paced back and forth through her living room, a crumpled piece of paper in one trembling hand, her phone in the other. She had not let go of the note since she’d found it, first reading Lena’s message, stars dancing in front of her eyes, without realizing what the note had meant. She’d panicked and searched the house, searched outside, trying to find her, but to no avail. It was not until later, when she noticed her car gone as well, she’d turned the letter around and saw the other side, which had the official looking printed message and the scribbled note underneath. The sight of the Talon logo had made her insides turn to stone. She sighed as the line beeped and a familiar voicemail started.

_Hiya, love! Tracer here – or, not here actually! Leave me a message!_

She had left messages. Dozens of them. She’d called Winston, she’d tried to call anyone nearby that she knew and trusted, but none of them could help. Winston had promised to do what he could, and she believed him, she really did, but this helpless waiting was driving her mad. Lena going to Talon willingly, of her own accord, the mere thought of it made Angela sick to her stomach.

Angela looked at her phone and bit her lip. She scrolled down the list of numbers until she found the one she had not called in a long time. One she had never expected to call again after the way they had parted. Sighing, she connected the call. The phone rang three times, an eternity of silence between each time. Finally, a soft voice answered.

‘Mercy?’

‘I need a favour,’ Angela stated. She had wanted to sound resolute, but suspected her voice had betrayed her. It was silent for a moment before the answer came.

‘Anything. Tell me what you need.’

‘I need you here,’ Angela breathed, relief spreading warm through her chest for more reasons than she cared to admit, ‘in case my suspicions are correct. I will not be caught unawares twice.’

 

Lena awoke to the sight of a metal grey ceiling. It was plain, unfamiliar, but clean and otherwise not wholly unpleasant. As she regained control over all her senses, there were a few things that struck Lena as odd.

The first one was that this grey ceiling indicated she was not in a hospital, which was, all things considered, the place where she had found herself quite likely to end up, only second to the mortuaries. The second oddity was that she felt _great_. She felt rested, she felt energized, there was no soreness or ache or any other pain like she had constantly felt in the last months. The bedsheets over her body were soft and clean and bright white.

The third was that she felt naked. She tried to lift a hand to check under the covers and found herself loosely handcuffed to the bed with one hand. The other wrist did have a handcuff on it, but it had not been attached to anything. She lifted her covers and took a peek – yep, completely starkers.

That’s when she noticed it. Her chronal accelerator did not make a single noise. It shone brightly in its new casing, sleeker and smoother than the previous. She ran a hand over it and it responded immediately, charging up almost instantly. With wide eyes Lena looked at the technical marvel and felt her cheeks heat up a bit. She couldn’t wait to take this baby for a spin.

However, the problem was, she was still cuffed to the bed in an otherwise mostly empty room.

Lena looked around. There was plenty of space. She furrowed her brow in concentration. She just needed to focus aaand-

Lena blinked through time, for the first time in months. She ended up underestimating the force of her new accelerator, launching herself sideways off the bed. The chain of her handcuff, not made to withstand the forces of time, snapped loose from the bed. She tumbled forwards as the bed toppled behind her, launching the sheets, covers and mattress after her as she hit the opposite wall. She flopped down and rolled around laughing, clutching her stomach, tears of joy streaming over her face.

‘Oh, oh, that was _awesome_!’ she told herself, happily stretching out all her no longer painful limbs. She checked for new scars and saw none, save for one that was left from Angela’s operation on her rib and was still healing.

‘No scars,’ she murmured, wanting to overthink this fact but getting distracted by her regained abilities. She giggled and blinked through the room, zipping from one side to the next.

She came to a screeching halt as the door opened and Widowmaker stepped in, stopping just mere centimeters before crashing into the other woman, who was holding a plastic bag and had a compact handgun strapped to her thigh. Lena tried to be still, as if the other woman was a predator that would be alerted to her through sudden movements. Widowmaker closed the door and turned herself towards Lena once more.

‘Nice freckles you have,’ Widowmaker gave her a languid look up and down, her face unimpressed, ‘pretty much everywhere.’ She did not need to say more,  Lena would take care of her own embarrassment. Surely enough, Lena looked down, realized again what she had realized before, and turned beet red. She quickly grabbed the sheet and covered herself with it.

‘Bloody hell,’ she said, exasperated, ‘did nobody teach you how to knock?’

‘Here’s the deal, Tracer,’ Widowmaker began, ignoring the other woman’s complaints, ‘we’ve fixed and improved your health and your chronal disassociation issues. Normally, the price for that is very steep, but, as this time it gave our scientists a unique chance to work with someone with your.. affliction and the chance to study your device, you’re getting this upgrade for free.’ She took a deep breath. Lena clutched her sheet close to her chest and tiptoed closer.

‘For free?’

‘Yes,’ Widowmaker nodded, ‘however.’

‘I knew there was going to be a “however”,’ Lena grumbled. To her surprise, Widowmaker nodded understandingly.

‘There is always a “however”. For you it’s this: your chronal accelerator will need maintenance and updates. For each one you need, you will work for Talon. If you don’t maintain your upkeep, the device will fail.’

‘Are we talking long-term upkeep or short-term upkeep? I mean it looks pretty sturdy, is it certain that it will fail?’ Lena asked, unconsciously running her fingers over the rim of the accelerator.

‘Trust me, it will.’ Widowmaker shook her head. The look she gave Tracer vaguely resembled pity. ‘The device is set to initiate automatic shutdown when you do not check in to a Talon base for more than 7 days.’

‘What?!’ Lena gasped, ‘no, no no you can’t do that! I have to be here every week?’

‘It’s out of my hands, _petite_ ,’ Widowmaker shrugged, ‘that’s all I was told to tell you.’ She set down the bag and opened her mouth to speak again, but Tracer had disappeared in a blur of blue. The next moment, she felt the air being forced out her lungs as her back hit the wall, Tracer’s elbow against her chest and the tip of the barrel of her own handgun up against her chin. The girl’s face displayed nothing short of fury as she tried to press Widowmaker into the wall with as much force as she could muster.

‘How about this then,’ Lena snarled through gritted teeth, ‘let’s trade my life for yours. You remove that timebomb from my accelerator,’ she took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed the gun harder against Widowmaker’s jaw, ‘and you live.’

Lena breathed hard, her blood pumping in her veins. The image of Talon agents working on her accelerator while she held them at gunpoint flashed through her mind, but was quickly replaced by something else. Something inside her told her to do it, to pull the trigger and get the ultimate revenge. She could kill her and run, could hope that Winston would be able to fix it in time.

It was a huge risk, and there was more at stake than she wanted to realize. She tried not to flinch as she caught Widowmaker’s icy gaze. She sought for a hint, for any trace of fear over the woman’s face, but found none. Instead, Widowmaker’s passive mask broke into a smile.

‘Such a foolish girl,’ she whispered, ‘if you kill me, who will tell Talon to schedule your accelerator’s updates?’ Her voice was soft, lined with amusement. Lena’s eyes widened in confusion, for a moment just staring at the woman with a desperate look on her face. When she stepped back and lowered her gun, her face had paled in shock as she realized the predicament she had gotten herself into.

‘Your clothes are in the bag,’ Widowmaker said, absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder. She extended her hand towards Tracer, gesturing towards her wrists. As she undid she shackles, Lena seethed with rage.

‘You are free to go,’ Widowmaker said, turning on her heel and opening the door. She paused before she stepped through to throw a quick look over her shoulder and smile wickedly. ‘Just make sure to be back in seven days.’

 

Lena had unpacked the clothes from the bag and found all her belongings there, except her weapons. At the bottom of the bag she found her goggles and her mobile phone, sitting quietly as a reminder of times before. She picked up the goggles, relishing the familiar feeling of the plastic and rubber rim, and put them on. Instantly, she felt a little better. Perhaps, she could deal with this. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

She felt a coldness in her stomach as she picked up the phone. Having remarkably lived through what had basically been the stupidest decision of her life, she now had to face the people she had left behind. The screen flickered to life, and messages began to crowd the screen. Missed calls, voicemails, texts. Her eyes drifted upwards towards the time, and she noticed four days had gone by since the evening she left. Four days, she had been out for four days? It was a little past three in the morning, and she considered waiting at least until daybreak to call the others. She stared at her screen indecisively until the messages stopped rolling, leaving one at the top.

_You have 56 missed calls from “Mercy”._

‘Oh Angie,’ Lena sighed, regret pitting painfully in her stomach. She took a deep breath and pressed to connect the call. It only rang once, then was picked up. On the other side she could hear Angela’s exhausted, broken voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Angie, it’s me,’ Lena said quietly. Something made out of glass shattered on the other side of the line.

‘Lena? Lena is that you? Are you alright?’ Angela almost shouted into the phone. Lena heard her voice breaking as she started to sob, and could only grimace as she felt the pain she had inflicted upon her friend.

‘Angie, I’m- I’m fine. I’m great, actually,’ Lena inhaled sharply as she tried to hold back her feelings and stay calm. ‘I’m coming home. Today.’

‘What?’ Angela whispered, her voice suddenly flat.

‘I’m coming home. Can I stay at your place for a bit more?’ Lena asked again, eyebrows raising as she heard Angela suddenly so devoid of emotion.

‘Yes,’ the doctor replied, ‘I’ll make the, uh, the preparations.’ Lena smiled through everything she felt. She couldn’t blame Angela for not sounding happier, if she knew her, she’d put her through the worst four days of her life and now she announced she’d just be coming home? Lena realized she would have been upset too, and the guilt constricted her heart like a snare.

‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to convey her genuine thankfulness.

‘Lena,’ Angela asked suddenly, ‘one more thing.’

‘What is it?’

‘Did you really go to Talon?’ The question hung heavily in the air as Lena hesitated what to answer. In hindsight, it would have been better if she’d just ran away for a bit to come to her senses, like an upset teenager. It would have been better if she’d done anything else except what she had done. She couldn’t blame Angela for hoping she hadn’t made this decision after all.

‘Yes, I did, Angie.’ Lena ultimately sighed. It was silent for a few seconds, the only sound that of her own breathing. Then, without a word, Mercy hung up.

 

It took almost all day for her to find her way back. She was placed on a landing station, Talon agents dressed in black running about, moving cargo, discussing orders in hushed voices. Large cranes were placed on the platform, but were immobile at the moment. One of them was still attached to a massive pellet of crates.

Lena sat on a crate, watching the people go by, and waited as she was told. She yearned to go home, to go back to Angela and Winston and hug them both as hard as she could. To feel safe and loved and welcome once more. Time ticked by slowly. At one point, a Talon agent gave her a sandwich, which Lena absolutely devoured. Before, she hadn’t even noticed her hunger – after she ate the food she realized how hungry she’d been, and still was. She pulled up her knees to her chest and wondered what she was waiting for.

It was about sundown when a black van rode towards her. She saw it approach her, appearing as it rode through the sparse light of the few lamps that had been lit, and disappearing in the shadow immediately after. After it stopped in front of her, two men got out and opened the back doors. They gestured for her to get in, so Lena jumped up and hopped into the back. She relished the feeling of her muscles, supple, invigorated, no longer stiff and aching. As she turned around to close the doors of the van from the inside, she saw a slender form walking through the light. Widowmaker stopped a small distance away from the van, her arms crossed. When she saw Lena notice her, a smile crept over her face. She lifted her right hand and waved elegantly. ‘ _Au revoir_ ,’ Lena read from her lips, though she never made a sound. She couldn’t look away until the Talon agents closed the van doors in her face.

 

There were three parking tickets on Angela’s car. Lena held the tickets in her hand, astonished that something so banal, so _ordinary_ as a parking ticket still existed. As she held them in her hand, realizing that for some people, worries only go about as far as parking tickets, she suddenly grinned. Then she broke out into a full-out laugh and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Wiping her face, she got in the car, letting the parking tickets fly away on the wind. She rode through the cool night with the volume of the radio turned all the way up, singing along with every song as loud as she could. When she didn’t know the lyrics, she made them up. The sound of the beat, the sound of her own voice and her speeding over the roads made her feel so _alive_. She had survived. She had not disappeared. Her chronal accelerator worked and her wounds had healed. Wasn’t that all that mattered? She was going home. Home to Angela, who had probably been worried sick, and home to Winston. Home to the friends that had become her closest family. She felt her heart beating in her chest as she opened the car windows, letting the wind grab hold of her hair and shake it about. She felt the cold on her skin, and for once just enjoyed it.

Mercy’s home was dark when she arrived. She’d turned down the music a while ago, for fear of waking her. She didn’t know whether she would be asleep, Angela had a habit of working late hours anyway, but Lena didn’t want to wake her if she’d finally gotten some sleep.

She quietly opened the front door, thank god Angela kept her home keys on the same ring as her car keys, and stepped inside.

‘Angie?’ Lena whispered, opening the door to the living room. ‘Angie, you awake, love?’

The living room was quiet and dark. She heard a creak behind her and rapidly turned, only to see Winston, with an apologetic expression on his face.

‘Lena, please don’t panic-‘ he started, reaching out towards Lena in warning, but recoiled and stopped mid-sentence. The harsh clack of a high heel on the wooden floorboards was followed by the metallic click of the safety of a gun being released. Lena spun around again, trying to locate the sound. This time she looked right into the barrel of Angela’s handgun, being held tightly in two trembling hands. Lena gasped, giving the doctor a look that spelled out the complete and utter betrayal she felt. She saw the woman’s face; not Angela but Mercy, her expression cold and calculating. There were dark bags under her eyes, her hair was disheveled and her face had an overall grayish appearance. Her eyes were dull and full of tears.

‘State your name!’ Mercy cried. Lena just shook her head.

‘I don’t, I don’t understand,’ she stammered. She wanted to look to Winston for help, but she didn’t dare move.

‘Your **name!** ’ Mercy repeated, harder this time. Lena saw her chest heave with every deep shuddering breath she took.

‘Lena Oxton!’ she replied, holding up her hands to try and calm the woman down. ‘Angie, it’s really me!’

‘Angela,’ Winston growled, attempting to step closer, but once again stopping as Mercy aimed the gun from Lena to him and back.

‘Prove it,’ the doctor growled, ‘why else should I believe you?’

‘This is bloody insane,’ Lena cried, only barely holding back the tears that formed in her eyes. This was the absolute last thing she’d expected to get home to. Winston seemed to read her mind.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ he tried, speaking from the shadows behind Lena. At that Mercy once again aimed the gun at him, then back at Lena, her hands shaking harder than ever.

‘I examined Amélie Lacroix,’ she heaved, bordering on hysteria, ‘I treated Amélie Lacroix and told her she was okay. I gave her the green light and two weeks later Gérard was dead!’

‘Angela, what happened to Amélie was-‘ Winston rumbled, but Mercy interrupted him again with a screeching cry.

‘She was my friend! She was my best friend and I didn’t see! _Ich konnte es nicht sehen, hab's nicht gewusst...’_ she trailed off, sobbing so hard her breath hitched, stuck in her throat. When she spoke again, the look in her eyes was a mixture of sorrow and fury. ‘I will not make the same mistake now!’

At Mercy’s side, a form suddenly lit up, trails of light forming the contour of a muscular body. Lena recognized him immediately as Genji, and swallowed a sob as he pulled the katana on his back from its sheath. Mercy’s voice broke when, still unsuccessfully trying to keep her hands stable, she nodded at him.

‘Do it.’                 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the commentary on the previous chapters, I really enjoy reading all your thoughts!

Lena closed her eyes. She considered blinking out of the way, even if she got shot she could probably reverse time and run. But this was _Angela_. The last person she had ever expected to point a gun at her. The kindest, gentlest person that had ever taken care of her. The person she'd looked forward to seeing again most. Mercy's words echoed shrill in her mind.

'Do it,' a trembling, desperate command at the man at her side. It seemed like an eternity ago already since she spoke those words, but time was funny around Lena. She didn't know what to expect. A small, sickening voice in the back of Lena's mind made her realize that she was mad. She was furious that Mercy didn't even pull the trigger herself. That she'd die at the hands of whatever Genji was to Mercy now. Maybe they'd been lovers once, but now he was little more than her henchman. It was cheap. Lena felt cheated somehow.

A gust of wind indicated that Genji had moved, with such great speed that he was almost invisible to the human eye, and she felt the pressure of a sword against her neck. Smooth metal against her back. She was pulled backwards, and obediently took a step to compensate for the added pressure on her neck.

There was no pain. When Lena opened her eyes, Genji was behind her, protectively holding his hand out over her shoulder, in front of her. Shielding her. The blunt of his blade was pressed against her neck, not the sharp. Angela's expression could not have been more forlorn. Lena felt the ice in her chest melt away and make way for equal parts relief and confusion. What reason could Genji possibly have to choose her over Angela? As if he could read her mind, Genji's next words sliced through the tense air.

'Angela,' his voice was barely more than a whisper, 'lower your gun. Do not commit something you will regret.' The silence stretched on between them. Angela looked at Genji, not at Lena. Genji's eyes were hidden behind his mask, but Lena could feel the tension. The weight of his past pushing down on all of them. He had not spoken many words, but the meaning behind them was more than clear- do not make the same mistakes as I have. Don't make rash decisions you cannot undo. He'd shown that he could control Lena, while also protecting her, and in one swift movement taken control of the situation out of Angela's hands. Tears fell down Angela's face silently as she tightened the hold on her gun. Genji noticed the subtle, almost invisible change in her expression before Lena did.

Lena suddenly felt Genji's strong grip on her arm as she was pulled away, thrown backwards towards Winston with great force. At the same moment, a gunshot rang through the house, making the china chatter in their cupboards. Lena cowered in Winston's embrace, panting in fear. She looked back to see Genji face-to-face with Angela, his sword on the floor, both of his hands around Angela's wrists, his arms extended downwards and to the side. He had shoved the gun aside, and a smoldering burn on the floor indicated where the bullet had hit. Lena looked from the bullet mark not an arm's length away from her, her heart beating in her throat, her head reeling. Mercy had pulled the trigger. _Mercy had pulled the trigger on her_. Lena felt sick to her stomach.

Genji forced the gun out of her hands, and threw it aside. As soon as he did, Angela fainted, somehow fitting exactly into his arms as he caught her.

'Take the car,' Genji said over his shoulder, 'and get out of here.'

 

'An ankle bracelet? And I have to stay here?' Lena whined as Winston put the bracelet on her, wirelessly connecting it to the sensors installed in Lena's apartment. 'Winston, you can't be bloody serious. Haven't I been through enough?' She pulled the thick, black nylon strap of the bracelet, but it wouldn't budge. On the outside of her ankle, a small black box had been attached.

'I'm sorry, Lena, I really tried my best for you,' Winston pushed his glasses back up on his nose, his expression gloomy, 'but in light of what has happened, you can't deny that Angela has a point. She insisted we quarantine you. For now.' Winston sighed deeply, giving Lena a reassuring squeeze. 'It's good to see you're okay, though, kiddo. Gave me quite the scare with that note of yours.'

Lena suddenly felt overwhelmed. This. This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for; to feel welcome, to come home, no longer on the brink of non-existence. Winston noticed her looking away, her face contorting as she tried to hold back all that she felt. He knelt closer, and wrapped both of his big arms around her, gently patting her hair. Lena couldn't hold back any longer and cried, long wailing howls of pain and fear and betrayal and hurt that she screamed into Winston's warm, familiar fur. She hadn't wanted any of this. She hadn't wanted to run away, to strike the bargain with Talon, to fight with Mercy, to be stuck in her own apartment with an ankle bracelet tracking her every movement. But the worst part was that no amount of rewinding time could undo what had been done.

 

Lena spent long days in her small apartment. It seemed like an eternity ago since she was last here. Back then, there had been no electronic locks on her door, no sensors in every corner. Back then, there had been bandages and painful muscle exercises and Angela visiting as often as she could. Lena stared at the leather chair near the window. It had not been moved ever since the last night she was here.

Widowmaker, Lena suddenly thought. It was as if she could see her falling from the roof again right now. The moment of silence before she turned around, all smooth curves and deadly edges and bright eyes. "You're not dead", she'd said, and Lena grimly realized that she'd been more alive then, than she was now. Maybe seeing Talon from the inside should have made her see everything different, but she couldn't convince herself. Talon had been awful.

More awful than coming home?

Lena resolutely shook that thought from her head. _Of course_ it had been way more awful. It was just that she barely remembered a thing. She remembered waking up, feeling great, and going home. And Widowmaker being her annoying, smug, terrifying self. Lena slapped the palm of her hand over her face in embarrassment as she remembered her meeting with the assassin after she'd woken up. Perhaps the idea of threatening her had not been an objectively bad idea, but she realized now that it wasn't so surprising the other woman hadn't been impressed - when she thought about it, all Lena had really done was press her naked body up against that tight bodysuit. As she relived the memory in her mind, a blush crept over her face that she definitely, absolutely did not want.

The door slamming loudly shook her, thankfully, out of her dangerous train of thought.

'Good afternoon, Lena,' Genji said, nodding to her. Angela walked in behind him, clutching a clipboard to her chest. She only nodded, her lips pressed together into a thin line. Lena quickly sat up on her bed.

'Genji,' she said, a mixture of relief and fear in her voice, as she looked from one to the other, 'hi there. Angie, you too.' Lena tried to swallow a lump in her throat. At least Angela was coming to see her. Surely, she would realize Lena had done nothing wrong?

'I am going to run some tests,' Angela said coldly, not acknowledging her greeting. 'Please lay down on your back.'

 

It was almost two hours later and Angela had completely exhausted every test she could possibly run. She stood over her papers, which were scattered on Lena's kitchen counter, sighing and running a hand through her already-disheveled hair. Lena sat cross-legged on her bed, awkwardly shrugging at Genji, who just as helplessly just shook his head. Angela looked at the papers again, comparing, calculating. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing wrong with Lena. She was in perfect health. Not a single scan or test had given her useful results. No microchips, no insertions, nothing out of the ordinary. She'd written it all down, every single tiny thing, checked it, double checked it, crossed it out, checked it again. Frustrated, she picked up the two files she had folded open on the counter, grabbing one sheet from each.

'Look at this, it's maddening,' she hissed, resolutely holding the pages in front of Genji's face and setting the rest of the files on the foot end of the bed. Genji hesitantly accepted the paper, holding them next to each other, and then sighing. 'Angela, I don't know what any of these abbreviations even mean-' he started, but Angela paid him no mind. She ran her hands through her hair again, growling in frustration, pacing back and forth through the room. The harsh clicking of her heels on the wooden floor reminded Lena of the ticking of a timed bomb. Angela finally threw open the window, mumbling something about fresh air, and settled her elbows on the windowsill. She stared outside at the darkening sky as the gentle breeze played with her unruly hair. Genji's eyes darted from Lena's face to Angela's back and lingered there.

Lena pulled the files on the bed towards her. The top one was marked "Lena Oxton". On the open page was her case history, from the day she joined pilot training to the Slipstream incident to Overwatch. Lena's eyes scanned the page, not really reading but more just curious. It was very factual, to the point. Good health, then later, chronal disassociation and its symptoms, a lot of smaller injuries, bullet wound to the chest and broken rib... Lena turned the page. This page had definitely been the first page in the file, but Angela had taken the file and disorganized it entirely. This page had Lena's basic information, age, height, weight, the usual. On the side were two pictures, one official-looking portrait picture of just Lena's face, a serious, neutral expression on her face. The other one was more casual, depicting a smiling Lena with Winston in the background. Had this been any other occasion, she would have asked Angela about the casual picture. Right now however, it seemed best to remain quiet. Lena's eyes darted to the other file. It was an older file, clearly often read and worn a little at the sides. There were stains on the brown cardstock cover, that had made the ink bleed slightly. 'Amélie Lacroix,' Lena mumbled, trying to quietly pronounce the name. This was the name Angela had shouted the night she'd come home. Why did she bring this? Had she been comparing Lena's file to this one all this time?

Lena carefully flipped the cover over and was greeted with a similar first page as she had found in her own file. That name again, Amélie Lacroix, her age, height, marital status, nothing remarkable. To the right was a formal picture of a woman with a classically beautiful face and long dark hair, wearing an airy white blouse over her slender frame. Lower on the page a Polaroid picture had been stuck, the colors a little faded and the edges slightly discolored. It was a picture Angela had taken herself, the arm with which she held the camera visible as she angled it towards her own laughing face. Amelié Lacroix had both arms slung around Angela's neck and smiled brightly at the camera. Lena's eyes narrowed as she was hit with a very weird feeling in her gut. She peered at the pictures, trying to figure out what felt so wrong.

Genji suddenly took the file from her hands and folded it closed, stacking it on top of Lena's file.

'Perhaps it's better if you think it over for a while,' he said to Angela, who turned to him and nodded solemnly, before he turned back to Lena, 'I'm afraid you'll be in quarantine for a while longer, Lena.' The Brit nodded in response, letting out a deep sigh and laying back down on the bed.

'Is the ankle bracelet still necce-' she tried to casually ask, but was interrupted by Angela's hissed 'Yes. _Unbedingt.'_ Lena bit her lip, hard, and decided she couldn't stand this any longer.

'Why don't you tell me what's going on, love.' She'd sounded more stern than she'd meant to. Angela took her files from Genji's hands and clutched them close to her chest, breathing in and out before answering.

'I need to make sure you weren't,' Angela hesitated, looking anywhere but Lena's face, ' _instructed_ to kill any of us. Or all of us, for that matter.'

'What do you mean, instructed?'

'I mean,' Angela hesitated again, and lightly sat down on the edge of the bed. When she continued, for the first time she could look Lena in the eye. 'I don't exactly know. There is nothing wrong with you, apart from slightly elevated stress levels. You are completely fine.' She thumbed the files she was holding. 'The problem is I gave someone else the same diagnosis and it turned out to be very, _very_ wrong. We don't speak much of it, it is a painful memory for many Overwatch members.'

'Amélie Lacroix?' Lena asked, completely mispronouncing the French surname. Angela gave her a glare with dangerously narrowed eyes. Lena immediately held her hands up in defense, stammering 'I-I saw the name on the file!' but she noticed the moment had passed, and Angela wore her cold mask again. She stood up, greeting Lena with a curt nod. 'I'll tell you if you turn out to be clean,' she bit, gesturing for Genji to follow her. He followed suit without even saying goodbye.

 

Lena was laying in her bed, the curtains closed. It was dark around her, her face only illuminated by the bluish light emitting from the screen of her phone. She had managed to get into the Overwatch network and typed into the search engine. So far, none of her search requests had returned any results. Any variation of "Amélie Lacroix" gave the same result: 0 items found. Had she been erased from the database? Who was she? Where did she go? Did she have an unexpected connection to Talon too?

Her phone vibrated in her hand as Lena received a message.

 

_From: Winston_

_How you holdin' up?_

 

Lena smiled at the screen. Some things never changed. Midnight texting with Winston was one of those things.

 

_From: Tracer_

_Everything bloody sucks. >:(_

_From Winston:_

_I feel you. All out of peanut butter._

Lena laughed out loud. Winston had not ever left her side. Too bad he couldn't be here because he would attract too much attention in traffic. With Overwatch gone, so were their fancy methods of transportation. Lena closed the chat screen and looked at her zero search results. Chewing her cheek, she doubted if asking about it was a good idea - but now she'd _had_ the idea, and couldn´t let it slide.

 

_From: Tracer_

_Hey, just wonderin' - who is Amélie Lacroix?_

 

The phone was quiet for a little while, and Lena held her breath. Would he answer? Would he get mad too? She almost didn't dare to check when her phone vibrated again.

 

_From: Winston_

_Gérard Lacroix's wife. He was a tactical analyst for Overwatch, one of the best. She was captured. Why?_

_From: Tracer_

_I just wanted to know._

 

_From: Winston_

_She was lovely. Perhaps it's best to just remember that._

Attached with the message was a picture, taken in Winston's research lab at the height of Overwatch's popularity. People in uniform were running around in the background, Athena splayed out over several screens. On the desk chair a young man sat, his hair a rich brown. He had some lines in his forehead, his face touched lightly by the hand of time and the stress of working for Overwatch, but his eyes shone bright and he smiled happily. On his lap was the woman from the Polaroid again, dark hair now in an elegantly braided updo. She looked at the camera with a serene smile, hiding her emotions behind professionalism. Lena stared at the picture, feeling that strange churning feeling in her stomach again. Fear, she realized. She looked at this woman, this peaceful, happy, dead woman and she felt fear. Gazing intently at the picture, Lena was unaware of the sound that came from the window.

'Tracer,' a soft voice said, lined with urgency. Lena's head snapped up from her phone.

Once more, she looked straight at the face of Amelié Lacroix.

 

Lena could only stare as the woman entered the room through the window, effortlessly swinging her long legs over the narrow windowsill. Amélie Lacroix, no - _Widowmaker_ crept closer, her eyes dangerously narrow.

'Tracer,' she repeated, 'what do you think you're doing? Tired of life already, after all the trouble I went through for you?' Her voice was a hushed whisper, but it was filled with disdain. It slowly dawned on Lena that Widowmaker was somehow disappointed in her, and the next moment realization struck her like thunder: the time limit. She panicked, looked down at her accelerator, concernedly feeling around the casing, then hurriedly scrambled to her feet, almost jumping up. That reaction made Widowmaker's eyebrows raise.

'Did you .... _forget_?' she asked, the most incredulous look on her face.

'No!' Lena squeaked, then as she ran a hand through her hair with an exasperated sigh, continued, 'well, yes. Look, it's been really hectic around here, and, things happened, and...' she trailed off. Widowmaker had suddenly activated her visor and was looking around the room. Lena noticed her hand reaching for her rifle.

'What's with the alarm system?' Widowmaker asked, opening her visor to look back at Lena. This time, it was Lena's turn to laugh.

'You'd be right to think someone would install some sort of security around here after what you did to me,' she pointed at the intruder accusingly, 'but they're not for you. They're for me.' She lifted her ankle, showing the bracelet. Widowmaker looked at the bracelet and then chuckled, dark, throaty, and _incredibly patronizing._

'Well, if you'd rather stay here,' the assassin smirked, 'I suppose I can go. You'll be out of my thoughts before I'm out the window.'

'I've been on your mind then, love?' Lena's mouth slipped before she could think. After she said it, she bit her cheek, and tried hard to keep her face passive, only party succeeding. Widowmaker looked surprised for a fraction of a second, the moment passed by so quickly Lena could swear she'd imagined it, and soon after Widowmaker's face returned to its usual arrogant smirk.

'Don't flatter yourself,' she replied flatly, then glanced at the bracelet again. 'Some situation you've gotten yourself into, _choute_.' She crossed her arms and met Lena's incredulous gaze. 'So, what will it be?'

'I'll go with you,' Lena said, reluctantly. She couldn't hold Widowmaker's gaze for long. A silence stretched between them.

' _Magnifique._ Then what are you waiting for?' Widowmaker snapped. Lena's eyes widened in surprise.

'I can't,' she stammered, awkwardly pointing at her leg, 'I can't take it off..' Widowmaker rolled her eyes and quickly scanned the room. Unsurprisingly, all sharp objects had been removed. She reached down to her boot and pulled out a compact knife, flipping it open with ease. Lena watched her sink gracefully to her knees, her fingers more gentle than she'd expected them to be when she pulled Lena's ankle towards her and started sawing through the thick strap that attached the device to Lena's leg. Lena swallowed thickly as she felt a blush creep up on her face. It took all of her strength and willpower to not make a quip about Widowmaker looking good on her knees, but since the woman was holding a knife, well. Better to be safe than sorry, sometimes. Or in this case, better sorry than stabbed. Lena, lost in this train of thought, coughed nervously, which caused Widowmaker to agitatedly look up at her.

'What?' She caught Lena's wide, hazel eyes. Lena suddenly felt sad as she recognized the narrow nose, the sharp chin and almond eyes from the woman in the pictures.

'Widowmaker,' Lena asked, melancholy lacing her voice, 'who was Amélie Lacroix?' At that moment, the strap broke with a sharp snap. Widowmaker put her knife away and got back on her feet. She looked at Lena, furrowed her brows as she thought, and then raised her shoulders and shook her head. She didn't look particularly interested when she answered, 'I don't know.'

 

Lena soon found herself in another one of those white, empty rooms, this time with only a chair. Across from her, a mirror had been installed. She looked at her own, forlorn form, the chair too large for her narrow frame. Her feet only barely touched the ground. She felt a bit like a kid waiting for a doctor's appointment. A man in a dark shirt, pants and sunglasses entered the room, carrying a big, metal box. He grunted a greeting at Tracer, which she hesitantly returned with a nod. He set the box down next to her chair and pulled out some wires. Lena found herself wondering about the sunglasses. Would he always wear them, or only around her? Was he trying to protect his identity? Perhaps she should have worn sunglasses herself too?

He roughly opened the side of the accelerator and connected one of the wires from the box to the accelerator. It jumped and hiccupped once before resuming its normal hum.

'Hey! Watch it,' Lena cried. The agent looked up at her once, then grabbed another wire. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. That caught Lena by surprise.

'Oh, it's okay,' she said. The Talon agent hissed at her under his breath as he inserted the second wire, more careful this time.

'Don't look so happy. That Widowmaker woman is watching from behind the two-way mirror.'

'Two-way-' Lena tried to look up to the mirror but yelped when the agent suddenly pinched her arm, hard.

'Yeah, two-way mirror. Can you make it even more obvious I just told you?' He shook his head and sighed, connecting a third wire to something inside the box. 'I may be new, but you're just plain foolish.' Lena pouted a bit at that, but realized he was right. Instead, she stared at her feet, impatiently wiggling them back and forth.

'Can't you un-mirror that two-way mirror? Then we can spy on them too,' she said, trying not to make the smirk on her face too obvious. She heard the agent chuckle.

'Fine,' he said, 'she's not supposed to be here anyway. If anything, it won't get blamed on me.' Turning away from the mirror, he took a remote from his pocket and clicked a button. A barely audible, electrical sound buzzed, indicating the light sources had been switched. Now, the mirror did not reflect; instead it looked more like shaded glass, tinted dark but very much transparent. Lena looked right at Widowmaker's piercing gaze.

Suddenly, she wished she hadn't asked for this. Now she felt more like she was sitting on an electrical chair, and was being observed by the executioner. The Talon agent noticed the change in her expression.

'That's better. Now sit still, it needs to update. It will only take a little while.' Lena looked around the room, trying very hard to ignore Widowmaker's stare. She looked at her feet, the ceiling, her accelerator, back to the shaded glass, back to the ceiling, the glass, the agent beside her, the glass again..

Widowmaker had turned her head and seemed to be looking at something down the corridor. A moment later, a tall man dressed in black joined her. Tracer recognized him as Reaper, a real menace to Overwatch these past years. He'd even broken into one of the bases once. Reaper took one glance into the room and at Lena, then turned back to the woman next to him, his back arching as he towered over her. Apparently he had said something from behind his skull-like mask, because Widowmaker answered something with a curt, sweeping gesture before crossing her arms. Lena noticed that not a single sound penetrated through the glass, and wondered if they could also not hear her. Reaper and Widowmaker conversed a while more, the woman's eyes gradually narrowing the longer the conversation lasted. Lena saw the exact moment she snapped. She turned to Reaper, face contorted in anger, her hands clenched into fists. Lena could read on the movements of her lips the exact words that she spoke, "I did it because I wanted to". At that, Reaper jerked forward and grabbed Widowmaker by her throat. As he lifted her up in the air, she clawed at the hand around her neck, gasping for air, attempting to kick at him, but his body was ghostly, unfazed by her physical assault. Despite everything, Lena felt worry flare up in her chest. She tried to stand, but a hand on her shoulder firmly held her down.

'Unless you want to suffer the same fate, it's better you stay put,' the Talon agent hissed. Lena could only watch, horrified, as Widowmaker's struggle increased,  then slowed down, and eventually ceased.

 

'What do you see, Mercy?' Winston asked over the phone. Angela agitatedly ran up the stairs of Lena's apartment.

'Everything looks normal, it's just quiet, that's all,' she said, searching her pocket to find her keys.

'Unless you gave her alcohol, there's no reason for her to spend more than seven hours next to her bed with minimal movement,' Winston said, more to himself. Angela heard him type something, most likely consulting Athena for further details. She felt cold, and weary, and not even her handgun in her pocket made her feel safe as she turned the keys and opened the door.

'Lena? Lena, are you in here?' The room was quiet, and no one answered. The window was slightly opened, curtains drawn aside. On the floor, next to the bed, was the bracelet with the broken strap.

The cold, heavy feeling in Angela's stomach only grew worse as she picked it up and examined it. Torn, cut through with something. She looked around, but found no such object. In her mind, she pleaded to whatever deity she could think of, that Lena would waltz in now, that it would be a misunderstanding, somehow.

'Winston,' Angela finally said into her phone, fearing that saying it out loud would make it too real. But she had no choice.

'She's not here. She's gone.'

 

Reaper relaxed his hand, letting the woman he'd been holding crash to the ground. She sat on her knees, gasping for air, rubbing the bruised fingerprints that were quickly becoming visible on her neck. Reaper turned his stiff shoulder, then glanced through the mirror.

'Perfect,' he said, eyes trailing on Tracer's shocked expression, strangely enjoying the sight of tears glistening in her eyes. 'You make a great actress, Widowmaker.'

'Did she buy it?' Widowmaker asked, not looking up. Reaper laughed a low, menacing laugh.

'You _sold_ it.'


	6. Chapter 6

'You've protected her once, and with good reason. But now what? Will you still stand by her?' Long fingers turned over the broken ankle bracelet, letting the fabric slide through it, nails tapping on the hard plastic casing. Angela Ziegler looked paler than usual as she stood over her kitchen sink, arms leaning on either side. She felt sick, she felt tired, she felt lost. She'd overturned each and every corner of Lena's apartment and found absolutely no clues. Everything had been perfectly intact, no damages, no signs of struggle. Which meant...

No, Angela, she told herself. You have to believe in her. Winston does, and so does Genji. There is absolutely no reason Lena would do something like, say, tear off her ankle bracelet, jump out the window and run back to Talon.

Except, for all intents and purposes, it looked like that had been exactly what she'd done.

Genji gently placed his hand on top of Angela's, approaching her silently like a cat. When she did not object to his touch, he interlaced their fingers.

'It was right to give her a chance,' he said solemnly, 'now, we must do right for ourselves. Do right for Overwatch.' Through his mask, she could not see his eyes - but she heard the sincerity in his voice. She leaned closer, resting her cheek against the metal that made up his shoulder and watched the steam rise from the artificial joints. He rested one arm around her waist, the other in her hair, massaging soft circles on the back of her head. Momentarily relaxing, Angela closed her eyes and sighed, the hint of a smile tugging at her delicate features.

'So I'll stand by you, and find her,' Genji continued, softer now, as if not to disturb the woman, 'but then there is something I must know.' He paused, and felt Mercy tense against him. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more pain, but if he was to help her, there was no choice. Better to ask her now than to drag it out - ironically, the saying "mild physician, putrid wound" came to mind. Angela'd never been a mild physician. She'd been kind, and honest, and true. She'd never be mild if that stopped her from helping people. And so, inspired as he felt by her each and every day, neither would he.

'If worse comes to worst,' he asked, keeping his voice steady, 'do I spare her?'

'Do not ask this of me, Genji,' Angela hissed, trying to turn away, pushing up from his shoulder, but he tightened his grip on her waist. She looked away, and he noticed the way her arms fell down, the way her eyes shot back and forth, unseeing as she was lost in thought. He noticed the pulsing of the arteries in her neck and the way her hair swayed with every miniscule movement.

'Will you stay the night with me?' Angela asked him. He nodded in response, lifting a hand to tenderly caress her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. When she finally did, her eyes were filled with grief.

'If you give me an answer, then yes,' Genji said, cupping her cheek with his hand. She leaned into his touch, face distorting in remorse as she opened her mouth to speak.

'Genji, _liebe,_ ' she exhaled slowly, 'if Talon has truly, _completely_ taken hold of her..' she trailed off, but then bit her lip and willed herself to continue the thought.

'If Talon has destroyed all that she was, then she's better off dead.'

 

Lena still felt her heart beating in her throat as she ran towards the iron fence, ignored the sign that said "private property" and blinked over it in an instant, never even touching it as she soared over. She didn't stop, didn't look back until she reached the dumpy looking shack that held the entrance to the closed-down Overwatch base.

The moment her chronal accelerator had beeped, indicating that the update had been successfully completed, she'd torn out the wires, turned tail and ran. The image of Widowmaker's face, so desperate, so _fearful_ as she clawed against Reaper's hands was burned into Lena's mind. She'd wanted to help, to do _something_ which was absurd anyway because this was the woman that had _shot_ her, and Lena´s mind was reeling with all these feelings and emotions she did not even begin to understand. She´d left it all behind and ran. For all she knew, Widowmaker was still on the ground in that bloody hallway, passed out or worse.

Why did that thought _hurt_ so much?

Lena ran into the shack, threw the carpet aside and slammed her hand on the scanner. It felt like time couldn't go any slower as she waited for the electronical voice to grant her entrance. It never came, and Lena cried out in frustration. She slammed both fists on the metal hatch door, grinding her teeth and yelling at the stupid thing.

'Let me in, you bloody hatch,' she hit the door with both fists, emphasizing each word with a loud _thump,_  'this. is. such. bollocks!' That last hit to the door sent a metallic echo down the hatch, that reverberated for several seconds before dying down.  Defeated, she sat back and then fell to her back, dragging the palms of her hands down her face. She was just about ready to scream. Her list of safe places was rapidly getting shorter and this had been the first place she'd thought of she'd be absolutely safe. She hadn't thought of the fact that it would have no electricity and that the hatch would not open.

Suddenly, her eyes widened a little. It was an electronic lock, wired to set off several alarms if an intruder tried to open it, and to start the base sealing protocol. The lock itself, on the hatch, was not that heavy - it was the sealing walls inside the base that were designed to keep intruders out. But with no electricity, there was no security. Lena jumped up, to frantically search for an item that she could use as leverage.

The cabin was relatively empty, and Lena coughed as she loosened dust that might have been there for decades. Finding nothing, she opted to look outside to see if perhaps there was something there she could use. Without thinking she drew the old curtains aside, and as the rough fabric slid through her fingers, she was struck with an idea. Looking up, there was the curtain rail.

'Gotcha,' Lena smiled. A quick jump helped her snatch the rail from its fastenings on the wall, dragging the curtains on both sides down with her. She tore off the curtains, they were old, and disgusting anyway, and besides, no one ever came around here. The rod was sturdy and flattened at both ends. Lena stuck one end under the rim of the latch, rolled her shoulders and then pushed down on the rod with her entire bodyweight. After a few excruciating seconds, the latch began to make a delicious creaking sound. The next moment, with a loud crack, the latch shot open, suddenly releasing the pressure on Lena's lever, making her tumble forward.  She could only just catch herself before she fell head-first into the entrance.

'Lena Oxton, you are back in the game,' Lena said to herself, hands on her hips in a self-confident pose as she enjoyed this complete, and utter victory. She'd needed this. She'd needed this so much.

 

Lena lowered herself down the latch and climbed down with ease. She noticed the light growing dim as she descended, and could not even see her feet when she finally reached the ground. The hallway was completely dark, save for one tiny red emergency light halfway down. Lena turned around and noticed the glow from her accelerator illuminating the hallway. It had never been this dark- she'd never noticed it doing that. Had the light on her chest been this bright before?

She continued down the hallway, knowing each and every corner by heart. It was painful, to see a once proud Overwatch base shut down like this, but it was safe. It was secure. She wouldn't bother anyone here.

A faint sound made her ears perk up. Lena flattened herself against the wall, slowly advancing, breathing shallowly as to not make any sound. Carefully, she peered around the doorframe into Winston's former laboratory.

In the middle of the room, next to an old tire, a small electricity generator had been set up. It powered a weak desk lamp and a laptop. A banana peel was thrown carelessly next to it. Lena couldn't help but smile.

'Winston?' she asked, letting go of the wall and walking into the lab. She saw a shimmer in the corner of her eye, and jerked her head to see, ready to blink any instant. From the shadows, Winston came forward, throwing aside a rifle he'd probably been holding not a moment ago.

'Lena,' he laughed, genuine relief in his voice, 'I hoped that might be you.'

'Winston!' Lena exclaimed as she ran forward and threw her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. He carefully returned the embrace, and she felt his mouth curl into a smile against her cheek. 'I missed you so much!' she said into Winston's fur. He patted her on the head, and gestured for her to sit by the dim light of the generator.

'I didn't think you'd still be here,' Lena wondered as she sat down next to the tire, her legs comfortably crossed. 'I mean, there's nothing here anymore. Everything's pitch black!'

'And yet here we are,' Winston chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose, 'it's not like I had anywhere else to go. It's hard to find a place to live when you look like me,' he shrugged, 'and not get stared at every day.'

'I didn't have anywhere else to go, either,' Lena agreed. She tried to warm her hands on the generator, but it had been expertly isolated, and didn't give off much heat at all. 'This place was the first that came to mind, but it's even better now that you are here.' That made Winston chuckle, and for a while they sat in a comfortable silence.

'So, being locked up in your room became too much for you?' Winston eventually asked, casually peeling a banana. Lena bit her lip. Of course he was going to start about it. There was no point in denying what had happened. He didn't seem to be judging though, so what the heck. It wasn't like things could get any worse any time soon.

'Winston, can I be honest?' Lena asked, looking at him with wide eyes and hope in her voice. Winston returned her gaze with a wide smile.

'I'd prefer it that way, even. Banana?'

'Thanks. Alright,' Lena peeled the banana and stared at the tip, 'hear me out, okay?' Where to start? Winston looked at her, and gestured around, as if to say, we have time. Tell me everything. And so she did. Lena took a deep breath and started at the beginning, with her accelerator breaking down, with her fear of disappearing. And then the confrontation with Widowmaker and the miraculous recovery. The endless rehabilitation, the never ending pain. Winston's gaze turned from interest to empathy as she continued to explain about how she'd felt, how imprisoned she'd been in her broken body, with a ticking time bomb on her chest. When she arrived at Mercy's home everything had seemed better but it wasn't, it never truly was. So then she got the news - and the letter.

'I've never felt closer to death than that night, Winston. So figured I might as well try. I took Mercy's car and met Widowmaker where she'd shot me. After that...I don't remember much.' Lena sighed. Winston had grabbed her hand somewhere along the line and squeezed it reassuringly.

'When I came to, I was healed, my accelerator was fixed, everything was great. Except for one thing.'

'Here were go,' Winston encouraged her, feeling the bad news approaching like stormy weather.

'There is a timer in this accelerator,' Lena felt around the metal rim, as if the machine would answer her somehow, 'and it is set to automatically shut down if I don't check in to Talon once every seven days.' Lena exhaled. There. She'd finally, finally said it.

'So when your time almost ran out, you cut through your bracelet and went to get your accelerator fixed?' Winston nodded, putting the pieces together in his mind. Lena shook her head, almost laughing at how stupid this was going to sound.

'Actually, after everything that had happened with Angela, I'd totally forgotten.' Lena didn't dare to look at her friend as she confessed the entire truth. 'Widowmaker picked me up at the last moment. She seemed really.. concerned. For, well, Widowmaker standards.'

Winston took a deep breath. And then suddenly, seemed relieved. Lena watched him in confusion as he smiled widely.

'Lena. I trust you. Never forget that. ' Winston turned her towards him with both hands on her shoulders. 'We can help one another. This need not be a terrible situation. Actually, we could use this to our advantage.'

'What? How?' Lena's eyes grew wide as saucers.

'Lena, in our hearts we are still Overwatch. We help people.' Winston smiled slyly. 'I've got a plan. In the worst case scenario, we deal a good blow to Talon. In the best one, we get Overwatch back.' He turned to type furiously on the keyboard of his laptop, making notes for himself for later as his mind reeled with ideas. Lena's smile reached from one ear to another as she sat closer, listening intently.

'I need you to get close to Widowmaker,' Winston pushed his glasses back up on his nose, gesturing excitedly, 'if what you said about her is correct, you have a great starting point. Make it work. Gain her trust, and get as much Talon information as you can. I will feed you false Overwatch information to give back to them and keep our agents safe.'

'How close are we talking, because Widowmaker is still the woman who shot me, love.' Lena quipped, feigning offense. Winston laughed harder than she'd anticipated.

'If Angela was any indication, _pretty damned close_.'

'Oh,' Lena gasped in surprise as she suddenly remembered the dossiers and took out her phone, pulling up the picture Winston had sent her earlier. Amélie Lacroix smiled lightly at her through the screen. 'I'd been meaning to ask about her.'

'Yeah, that's her alright. Before she was captured by Talon.' Winston's expression suddenly turned serious. 'She was missing for two weeks, then recovered from an abandoned Talon base with no resistance. Angela declared her completely fine, so we returned her to her husband. A mere two weeks later she killed Gérard in his sleep and fled the scene.' Winston sighed, slowly chewing on his banana. It made Lena realize she had still not touched hers and quickly took a bite. It also gave her a good excuse to tear her eyes away from the picture.

'So what happened? Why would she do that?'

'We believe she was brainwashed and reconditioned, maybe brutally,' Winston sadly shook his head, 'but there was no physical harm. None that Angela noticed, in any case. I'm sure if there was, she would have noticed.'

'Amélie was Angela's best friend, wasn't she?' Lena asked, in a small voice through a mouthful of banana. Suddenly, everything started to make so much sense. Of course Angela had suspected her to have been altered by Talon. She'd seen it all happen before. Lena wished she could have explained things earlier, that she could have saved her all this pain.

'Maybe more, I don't dare to say,' Winston replied, staring at a point on the ceiling as he thought, 'Amélie's marriage to Gérard was rather sudden, but they seemed happy enough. I did notice her acting differently around Angela, though. Simple things; lingering touches, too tight embraces. And everyone in the office suspected Angela was completely smitten with Amélie, but she'd never interfere in the marriage, of course.'

'I'm not sure if I should know about this,' Lena exclaimed, throwing her hands up in a defensive stance, 'Angela is, was, no - _is_ my friend too and perhaps I should give her an opportunity to tell me about these things herself.'

'You're right,' Winston nodded, 'it's mostly speculation, anyway.' After a moment's silence, he turned the laptop to Lena. 'So tell me, what are your ideas to get as much information out of Talon as possible?'

 

Two paces, turn. Two paces, turn. Desk. Avoid. Two paces, turn.

Widowmaker's heels made a rhythmically clicking sound as she paced around her tiny cabin, way underground in the Talon base. She'd been grounded for several days. A day not on a mission was a wasted, boring, useless, agonizing day. She'd sharpened her skills on the shooting range for several hours, exercised, showered, and found herself in that thrice-damned grey cabin again. Two paces, bunk. Not time for bed yet. Two paces, turn.

Her mind had started wandering. She tried to shake these thoughts, these distractions out of her head, but she couldn't. Her mind never wandered. And yet, now it did.

Tracer had almost not returned to Talon. Tracer had almost _died again_ and she didn't know why that bothered her so much. Perhaps it was because of Reaper, who'd told her to go get Tracer. If Tracer didn't return, she'd have failed her mission, and that irked her. But Tracer had been one of her targets, and she was still alive, which irked her just as much. It was an impossible situation she couldn't untangle her thoughts from.

'Widowmaker,' Reaper's voice sounded over her radio. Widowmaker almost leaped at the machine, picking it up with one hand, already grabbing her rifle with the other.

'What is it?' she asked, letting the door fall closed behind her.

'We have a situation in the upper level. Get ready.'

'Oh, _finally_.'

 

Sound and sight had little meaning to Genji. All his senses had blurred together, enhanced and sharpened by the exoskeleton he was built into, until everything was little more than a single, all-encompassing thought. He could feel, sense even, the world around him, the concrete beneath his feet, the breaths of his enemies behind their masks. He did not need to see them for they were in his _range_ , and his sword would kiss their flesh before any human could comprehend he had even moved.

Pitiful grunts, necessary sacrifices. He prayed for someone like Mercy in their lives, too. For someone to end the senseless violence he was about to commit. Cybernetic fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, green light escaping from the sheath. He leaned forward, ready to strike.

Talon agents took positions, in perfect form - they were trained well, knew little fear, and had even less conscience. They did not know him, thought him an Omnic, perhaps. Automatic guns and rifles took aim, just waiting for their commander to say the word.

'Surrender now,' an agent on the left, with a different type of jacket, called out from behind his gun, 'and we'll consider sparing your life.'

'Where is the girl?' Genji asked, loud enough for them to hear. He could almost see the murmurs reverberating through the lines of soldiers. What girl, which girl. Do we give him what he wants?

Genji slowly turned his head to the commander in the longer jacket. He heard the droplets of sweat fall down the man's stubbly chin, the way his knees trembled. He'd been a soldier once, as proven by his perfect stance, but this man was old and tired of fighting. He might make the right choice. Give him a second.

'Is she a prisoner?' the commander asked. Genji, slowly and clearly, nodded.

'A-all prisoners are in the main base!' the commander yelled, trying to get this over with. 'If she's alive, you'll find her there.'

'Very well,' Genji said, pointing the sharp of his blade at the commander, 'all those like him shall live. Drop down your weapons. You,' he looked at the commander, 'tell your main base I'm coming.'

None of the soldiers, except the commander, stood down. A moment and a flash of green later, they dropped their weapons, together with their lifeless bodies on the floor.

 

'What is the matter?' Widowmaker's voice sounded over the comm. He saw a glimpse of her higher up on the transport platform as she took position.

'Emergency call from the south satellite base, I suspect Overwatch activity.' Reaper answered, grunting orders to his subordinates, getting everyone into position.

'How many?' Widowmaker purred into his earphone. Reaper almost chuckled.

'Hold your horses. Only one.'

'Ah, too easy,' she answered, and he heard the distinct click of her rifle on the other side of the line.

'I want to confirm it's Overwatch activity, so spare your bullets. If it is, just keep him busy.' Reaper conjured forth his shotguns form thin air, checking the scanners and alarms for the intruder. Any minute now.

'I _never_ miss,' Widowmaker huffed, audibly offended.

'Fine,' Reaper laughed, 'don't aim for his vitals, then.'

' _D'accord._ ' With a sharp click, the comm channel was closed. Reaper crouched into position, shaking his head. That impossible woman. The air stilled, and seemed to cool down as they waited. Before long, a silhouette rose from the mist, and a voice called out.

'Where is the girl?'

Silence followed. Reaper quietly instructed his soldiers to lay back, to let the man venture further onto the transport platform.

'I have visual,' Widowmaker whispered into the comm. 'Do you want him dead?'

'Negative. It's Overwatch. Aim for the limbs.'

'Understood.' The assassin closed the channel, but Reaper opened it back up, and heard her quiet hum of surprise.

'Oh, Widowmaker, one more thing,' Reaper's grin was invisible beneath his mask, but she could hear it in his voice. 'Use channel fourty-three to call for help. Try to sound desperate.' He closed the channel before she could ask, and she did not open it back up. From the corner of his eye, he saw her move, backing out of hearing range. Good. Everything was in place. Now to see it all come together.

 

Lena had fallen asleep on the cold floor a long time ago, but she hadn't slept like this in what felt like forever. With her head on the tire that Winston slept on, his quiet breathing right next to her, she felt incredibly at ease. When her accelerator suddenly made a loud noise, beeped a few times, and then broadcast loud static she startled awake. Winston also looked up, his eyes still half-lidded.

'Errything ok?' he slurred, slightly sitting up. Lena looked at the device on her chest and noticed a flickering green light on the side. That hadn't been there before, had it? Had it been seven days already? No, it couldn't be- so then what? A malfunction? She tried to breathe slowly.

'Sounds like a bad connection,' Winston suggested, meaning the sound. 'Try the button.'

'I am _not_ recklessly pressing any lighted buttons,' Lena decided. The static was disturbed a few times, like the sound effects from cheap horror movies. She heard something resembling a voice in there. Winston tapped his chin, then leaned behind him to grab his glasses.

'It could also be the bunker. We're underground and this facility was made not to be discovered, you're gonna have bad reception here. Outside the hatch it should be better.'

'Winston, my accelerator is _not supposed to be a radio_!' Lena exclaimed, running a hand through her hair. She was at a total loss of what to do. It would be hard to ignore this loud noise all the time.

'Ingenious idea, though. I wish I had thought of it,' Winston pondered, which was met with an annoyed call of his name. He laughed. 'I can't wait to take this accelerator apart. I wonder what other surprises are in there. Not before I have your replacement, though.'

'You're working on a replacement?' Lena almost jumped for joy.

'Don't you have a call to take?' Winston gestured to the door.

'Oh. Right.'

It only took a second for Lena to blink towards the hatch and climb out, and the static immediately cleared as she climbed out.

'....desperately need help, I am pinned with no chance of backup, please, please respond, anyone, _s'il-te plaît_..'

'Widowmaker?' Lena blurted out before she'd really thought about it. The voice on the other side faltered for a moment.

'Tracer?' A second of silence, before the voice returned, a little higher, 'Tracer, is that you?'

'Yeah, it's me,' Lena finally said, ignoring the weird churning feeling in her stomach. She was giving backup to a mortal enemy and was definitely absolutely not supposed to feel relieved at hearing this woman's voice.

'Please, I am trapped, I have no weapon, an intruder has wiped out all our ground forces and blocked my escapes. If someone could just _distract him_ -'

'Why'd you call me?' Lena had to ask. She had to. It was against all regulations to question a call for backup when time was running out, but Talon did not play by the rules either. She had to know.

'I knew you'd answer,' Widowmaker lied convincingly, a softness in her voice that was not usually there, 'that you wouldn't let me die here.'

'Widowmaker,' Lena started, but her breath stuck in her throat when she heard the choked sob on the other side.

'Tracer, _I'm scared_ ,' the woman whispered, followed only by her breathing. Lena swallowed heavily. Perhaps Winston's plan wasn't so crazy after all.

'Stay put,' Lena sped out the shack, blinking forward, 'I'm on my way.'   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like that "romance" tag is not there just for decoration after all! ;) Thank you for the feedback so far!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and apologies for the delay on this chapter! As a reward, the rating is going up to 'Mature' as of today, so ye be warned.

Lena tried not to make a sound as she tentatively stepped forward on the concrete. Hiding behind tall, dark pillars, and peering past the cranes, she tried to see the Talon base. The mist rose from the ground, shrouding everything in a grayish haze. It was completely silent. Lena crouched into hiding, momentarily pressing a button on the side of her accelerator to whisper a message.

‘Are you okay?’

‘ _Oui,_ ’ came the quiet reply. Immediately after, the line was cut. Lena peered over the container. She had no choice but to go into that silent battlefield. She didn’t know who she was fighting, but apparently it was quite the foe. She would’ve blinked in, distracted them, no problem, except she had no weapons. Only after she’d left the Overwatch base she’d realized that her gun had been taken from her after her first visit to Talon. She hadn’t needed them until now, and honestly had other things on her mind. Now she was here, trying to save the life of the woman who’d shot her, without any weapons. Perhaps Lena would have tried to bluff had it been for Winston. Perhaps. But Widowmaker?

Get close to her, Lena reminded herself as she exhaled slowly. She still wasn’t sure what possessed her to agree to this. Get Overwatch back, get your life back. Right. Bollocks.

Lena blinked closer, immediately sinking back into hiding in a recess in the wall. Now, she could see the transport platform. To her shock, it was strewn with bodies. Talon mercenaries, barely harmed – except they were all dead. In the middle, a figure rose from the haze. Green light illuminated him and Lena’s eyes widened as she realized who she was looking at. It felt as if her stomach froze in place, as if time stopped without her consent. What exactly was he doing here? Did he know about the plan?

Genji’s head suddenly snapped to the side and he moved to the right, barely even touching the ground. Lena’s eyes followed him as he climbed up one of the walls like a great, weightless spider. He had almost reached the top when Lena suddenly saw a glimpse of purple. She narrowed her eyes and then noticed Widowmaker, folded into a corner, sitting as still as she possibly could. Lena reacted before she’d had time to think about it.

‘Genji!’ she cried. A moment of hesitation was all the window Widowmaker needed. Her grapple propelled from where Genji had almost reached her and she swung out of the way, landing onto the ground and running towards the other side. The sound of Reaper’s approaching gunfire drowned out any words. Genji moved back, dodging bullets left and right as if he was lighter than air itself.  Reaper flowed around him, and both clashed in more of a whirl of violence than what could be called a fight. Lena stared, unsure what to do. She stared a second too long.

Genji broke free from the fight and raced towards her. Within seconds he was upon her, and she blocked his sword with the armor on her forearms. Lena’s heart raced, her breaths shallow, but her mind reeled in excitement. She could do this. She blinked around him, appearing behind him a second earlier. Reaper took his chance to move in close and Lena moved behind him to relative cover. That was a mistake. Genji predicted her move and swirled around, striking Reaper in the side before knocking Lena down with the back of his elbow. Reaper disappeared with a low howl of pain and Lena felt the blade shallowly cut the back of her neck.

‘Lena,’ Genji growled, ‘have you betrayed my trust?’  He bent one knee, all mechanical muscles tensed, ready to strike at any second. Lena tried to raise her hands besides her head, her face pressing into the concrete as she laid on her stomach.

‘I’m on your side!’ she almost howled. The pressure of the sword lightened a little bit.  ‘Genji, I’m fine, I have nothing to do with-‘ A loud thundercrack was followed by the relief of the sword no longer pressing into her neck. Lena rolled over only to see Genji a few meters away from her, slowly getting up. His right arm had been absolutely shattered, shrapnel swaying and wires sparking from the stump that was his shoulder. The moment he locked eyes with her, she knew her chances had been, literally, blown to bits.

‘Widowmaker!’ Lena screamed at the top of her lungs, ‘Don’t shoot!’ Genji lunged forward, throwing stars ready in his left hand, only three long strides away from Lena’s certain demise. The next moment something exploded under his foot and Lena felt the blast force her through the air and then she rolled over the concrete off of the platform – and then the floor was gone and the wind howled in her ears as she fell and there was nothing but depths below.

Genji rose from the smoke. His arm shattered, he swayed, not used to the new balance of weight of his body. His left side felt heavy and overburdened. The bomb that had exploded under his foot had blown him aside, damaged the mechanisms in his legs, but he would live. As he looked around, he didn’t sense any others. Wincing, he straightened his back. Time to go home.

 

'Well, at least you're up and about again. I thought I'd never see the day.'

'I don't think I had a choice, doctor. You would never have stopped fussing over me. How long has it been?'

'Since your operation? Three months, Fareeha. You've made unbelievable progress, considering we've not been able to get you any of our regular Overwatch care or equipment.' Angela smiled over her tea, trying not to let her face show how bitter she felt about it. 'Reconnecting neural synapses to mechanical joints is not an easy operation. And without anesthetics, as well...'

'Let us not dwell on the pain of the past, my friend.' Fareeha answered, smiling widely. 'Without you, I would surely have died that night. I am so grateful.'

'Thank you,' Angela sighed, smiling back as she set down her tea. 'It's really nice to hear that for a change.'

'What do you mean?' Fareeha asked, her expression suddenly concerned. She nudged closer when Angela first shook her head, encouraging her to speak.

'I feel like,' Angela started, 'I haven't made the right decisions lately. Like everything is slipping through my fingers.'

'Like what?' Fareeha's hand on Angela's knee was calming and soothing. The blonde almost felt compelled to just pour her heart out, spill all her secrets if not for the terrible complications it might have. It was better no one knew about Tracer, just yet. Not while she still knew so little herself. A reassuring squeeze reminded her that her conversational partner was still waiting for an answer. Dumbstruck, she said the first thing that came to mind that didn't have anything to do with Lena.

'Genji's back.' Well, _scheisse_. That was not at all what she'd wanted to start about. Fareeha tentatively drew her hand away from Angela's leg.

'Really now.' She answered, just a tad colder than before. 'Why is that?' Fareeha sipped her coffee, trying to look relaxed, but Angela noticed her shoulders tensing. She hesitated before replying.

'I needed him for something,' Angela finally said, avoiding Fareeha's piercing gaze. 'Something personal.'

'You could have come to me,' Fareeha answered with a deep sigh. Angela shook her head.

'You're my _patient_ , first and foremost-' she started, but was interrupted by Fareeha scoffing accusingly.

'Was I your patient that night in Numbani?'

Angela slammed down her tea and got up, crossing her arms in a bout of annoyance. 'I was drunk!'

'You were only drunk the first time,' Fareeha laughed, then got up slowly, but clearly practiced. She took a few calculated, deliberate strides and then wrapped her arms around Angela, pressing her chest against the doctor's back. 'Hush now. You've been through a lot too, I can tell. It's okay.'

'You walked,' Angela suddenly smiled. 'You walked all by yourself.' She felt Fareeha nod into her neck.

'Thanks to you.'

A loud, metallic sound, like a crash, coming from the front door made them both jolt. Angela took one concerned look at her friend, then broke loose from the embrace to go and check the front door. Fareeha stood frozen in place, trying to see what was going on. A moment later Angela's shrieking voice confirmed her suspicions.

'Genji! What _happened to you?!'_

 

Slow breaths. Widowmaker focused on her breathing and tried to ignore the gradually worsening strain on her right hand and arm. The wind was cold against her face as she dangled from the platform, only hanging onto her grapple with one arm. Her other arm was wrapped tightly around Tracer's chest, and her legs were clenched around Tracer's thighs. The chronal accelerator dug painfully into her sternum. Slow breaths.

'Are you awake?'

'What happened?' Lena slurred, trying to wiggle loose. Widowmaker retaliated with a snarl and tightened her grip.

'Will you _look around_ for once!' She growled, gasping as the sudden movement worsened the strain on her arm. Tracer obliged, and momentarily sobered up as she realized where she was.

'You saved me?' she stammered, leaning back slightly to catch Widowmakers gaze. The other woman winced in return and pulled her closer.

'Not yet,' she hissed in response, gritting her teeth in pain, 'you keep wiggling like that and we'll both fall, _chèrie_.'

'So what do you propose?' Lena asked, trying to keep still. Her face was pressed against Widowmaker's neck, her hands grabbing onto her collar. Her feet dangled helplessly down into the depths. 'Can't you reel us in?'

'No,' Widowmaker gritted her teeth, 'the strain would be too much on the cable.'

'Meaning?' Lena tentatively looked up the many metres of cable, strung tightly from the grappling device.

'Meaning you're too heavy to lift up, pet.' Widowmaker's chuckle reverberated in her chest, and the rumble resonated in Lena's lungs.

'Well, you haven't dropped me yet.' Lena mumbled, a little affronted.

'Indeed, but I am starting to regret that decision,' the assassin breathed, closing her eyes in concentration.

'Why didn't you?' Lena whispered, suddenly serious, hoping to whatever deity was out there, she hadn't just inspired the woman to do exactly that. Instead, Widowmaker slightly adjusted her position, wrapping her legs tighter around Lena's.

'I told you,' she replied, her voice absolutely flat, 'I've been through too much trouble to let you die here.' Lena sighed as she recalled what she'd seen through the two-way mirror.

'Thank you,' she finally said, unable to see the other's expression. 'Thank you for saving me, yet again.' It was silent for a short moment, the wind making then both sway as they hung from the thin cable of Widowmaker's grapple.

'It's nothing,' Widowmaker then replied quietly, French accent thick on her lips. 'But you are raking up quite a debt. If you wish to repay any of that, do it quickly, because we are running out of time.'

'Time,' Lena suddenly beamed, eyes glistening as an idea formed. She lifted her head and looked around. Thick steel beams had been constructed into a network of triangles to build the supports of the platform. She could grab on to those, if only she could reach them. If she could, she could probably climb back up. All they needed was the force of time. 'Hook your arm underneath my harness.'

'What?' Widowmaker tried to argue, but Lena insisted. 'Just do it. Hold on as tight as you can. You're going to get nauseous.'

'What are you going to do?' Widowmaker asked, letting go of Tracer's jacket and instead hooking her left arm underneath the strap of the harness, pulling the device in-between them. Lena flashed a cocky grin and then closed her eyes in concentration, fists tightening as hard as she could around Widowmaker's collar. Three, two, one.

'Saving us.' Lena blinked forward, giving them a boost of velocity. They swung forward, and then back, and Lena boosted them again with another blink forward, increasing the amplitude of the swing. She heard Widowmaker groan in pain next to her ear, but she couldn't get distracted. Just a little more, just a bit-

The next swing she boosted them one more time. The grapple cable broke with a sharp snap from its anchor and retracted, and Lena dove forward towards the support beam. She was launched against it, and she grabbed on with both hands, and pulled her legs up to support Widowmaker, who clung onto her with wide eyes. The assassin's whole body shook as she tried to regain feeling into her right arm.

'What was that?' She suddenly asked, her voice breaking mid-sentence. Lena laughed in response, a genuine, amused giggle.

'That's timetravel for ya, love,' she helped Widowmaker to grab onto the beam and support her own weight. 'You got a little taste of it there.'

' _Plus jamais ça,_ ' Widowmaker exclaimed, then rested her face against the cold steel and exhaled deeply, 'I am never doing that again.'

'They're down there!' a voice shouted from way up above on the platform. 'Get the rescue team!'

 

Talon was surprisingly efficient when it came to cleanup. When Lena finally was able to pull herself up onto the platform, the bodies had already been cleaned away. Only macabre stains on the dark concrete remained. The place was swarmed with people once more, all on guard, all masked, all armed. It could have been a regular bomb drill if it weren't for the stains.

She stood and looked around at the trained men and women of Talon running around. In their black garb and masks, they vaguely reminded her of ants, crawling all over this place. The shiver that ran up her spine reminded her just where she was exactly. Just because things had turned out alright this time, that didn't mean she should get too familiar.

A grim realization made her mouth curl down. Lena wondered about Genji, and if he'd get home safe. If they'd be able to patch him up. She'd never meant for him to get harmed, and yet..

It must have seemed to him like she was distracting him. She wanted to slap herself in the face. If she'd ever had any chance of convincing Angela she was fine, then those might now have become impossibly slim. She was pulled out of her thoughts as she was shoved aside roughly by Widowmaker, who hissed at a Talon agent as she walked briskly over the platform, supporting her right shoulder with her other hand.

Lena yelped a startled 'Watch it!' as she regained her balance, and then puffed up her cheeks. That was it then? She gave _her_ a heartfelt thanks, but apparently no such thing would come over those full blue lips. Lena crossed her arms indignantly, chewing the inside of her cheek. She’d never been one to look before she leaped.

With a quick sprint she set in a chase, turning corridors and running down hallways, trying to keep track of the glimpse of purple in the distance.

She overtook the assassin in a dark hallway down in the facility, blinking forward to grab her shoulder and turned her around. On instinct, she reached with her right hand, but at the last moment aimed for the non-injured shoulder to turn the woman around. As she swirled on her heel, all grace and elegance, Lena materialized in front of her in a haze of blue. Had Widowmaker been caught off guard, she didn’t show it. Her face looked blank as ever, if not just a little annoyed.

‘What is it now?’ Widowmaker asked, a trace of a tired sigh in her voice.

‘You _shot Genji_!’ Lena said, the truth only now really sinking in. ‘I was talking to him and you just shot him!’

‘That is what I do, Tracer,’ Widowmaker replied, giving Lena an almost pitying look, as if she was explaining something inherently simple to a child. ‘I shoot people. I’m good at it.’

‘I was talking to him,’ Lena replied, exasperated. She balled her fists in anger, brows furrowing under her goggles. ‘I could have led him out of here without anyone getting hurt!’

‘And why would you want to keep him from harm?’ Widowmaker’s lips curled into a slight smirk. Then she threw her head back as she grinned, ‘You’re one of us now, _doudou_.’

Lena growled deep in her throat, rage clouding her vision. She leaped forward, grabbing Widowmaker’s arms and pushing her up against the wall. She was breathing heavily, her nails digging into the other woman’s arms, as she hissed through gritted teeth, ‘I am _not_ one of you.’

‘Are you not?’ Widowmaker smiled sweetly, completely unfazed by the fact that her back was pressed hard against the rough plaster walls. Then her smirk grew wider as she continued, imitating Lena’s British accent, ‘you should have heard yourself. “Thank you Widowmaker, savin’ my bloody life again, I don’t know what to do without you, Widowmaker-“‘

‘I never said that!’ Lena’s eyes grew wide in surprise, then narrowed as another wave of fury washed over her. She pressed her forearm against Widowmaker’s throat, another cry of rage worming from between clenched jaws. ‘You are so full of –‘

‘We would make a good team, you know,’ Widowmaker purred, interrupting her. Lena felt a slender leg being wrapped around her hips, pulling her closer. Her breath hitched for a moment when she was pressed against the other woman, Widowmaker’s gaze never wavering. Her amber eyes burned with a mischievous spark under heavy lashes. ‘If only you weren’t so damn stubborn. One way or another, you have a debt to Talon, so you’re stuck with me.’

‘A team, huh,’ Lena huffed, ‘that would mean you’d have to stop looking down on everyone all the time. Think you’re capable of not acting like all the world is beneath you?’

‘All the world is not worth my time, Tracer.’ Widowmaker trailed a long finger from her now-freed hand up Lena’s side ever so lightly, just enough to notice Lena’s eyes flicker to her side to check. Then she grasped Lena’s chin with two fingers and pulled her face closer, her words ghosting over Lena’s cheek. ’It’s best to only have one ... _target_.’ Lena forgot to breathe for a moment as she stared back into Widowmaker’s eyes, images and memories of fear and trauma and being shot flickering in front of her mind’s eye. She tried to draw back, put some distance between them, and her arm shifted from Widowmaker’s neck. She moved it to the side, and suddenly saw Widowmaker flinch as she pressed down on the injured shoulder. A wicked grin spread over her face.

‘Oh, you had that coming,’ Lena said, before realizing how wrong it was to take pleasure in this. She felt her own eyebrows rise up in perfect synchronization with Widowmaker’s.

‘Well, aren’t you full of surprises,’ Widowmaker smirked, making use of Lena’s momentary astonishment at her own cruelty to propel herself forward from the wall, turning them around until Lena was the one pinned. She pressed against her, keeping her in place with the left side of her hip, elbows resting on either side of Lena’s face, up against the wall. With her right hand, she idly petted Lena’s hair.

‘You might not be much on the battlefield, little Tracer,’ Widowmaker purred in her ear, ‘but at least you are endlessly entertaining.’

‘Entertaining?’ Lena yelped, voice pitched a lot higher than she’d wanted to, and then angrily pulled on Widowmaker’s collar. ‘You’re one to talk, you _entertain_ your whole squad with that bodysuit of yours!’ Low blow, Lena, she scolded herself, immediately shaking that thought from her head because there were no rules in this game, and definitely no morals. Was there such a thing as feeling bad for insulting someone who’d tried to kill you? Lena supposed the answer was something along the lines of “Yes, but why would you?”

Widowmaker was not at all affronted. Instead, she stepped back, curving her hips to the side and gesturing down her body.

‘Are you not entertained?’ she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. Lena had a gut feeling that if she answered negatively, it would be the last question she ever answered. She could move now, though, and it was time to get back the reigns. Her eyes involuntarily drifted over the swooping curves and sharp ridges that made up Widowmaker’s body, but she forced them back up to focus on her face. As she stepped forward, she tilted her chin up, raising one eyebrow in a cocky, confident expression.

‘If you’re planning on entertaining me,’ she closed the distance between them once more, this time seeing eye to eye with her, and ran down her fingers over Widowmaker’s collar, down her breast to where the V-shaped neckline ended on the woman’s torso, ‘you might as well do it properly, love.’

‘I don’t think you could handle it, _bijou_.’

‘Try me.’ Lena smirked, fully expecting her jab to have some effect. She didn’t expect to suddenly find herself in a lip-lock with the woman, cold, so inhumanly cold against her own.

Widowmaker breathed against her lips as they broke apart. Fingers slid under the straps of her goggles as they were pulled off of her face and carelessly discarded, giving her a chance to breathe before Widowmaker claimed her lips again. Lena’s heart raced in her chest, the world felt like it was spinning and turning, everything backwards and upside down. Why did she enjoy this? Why was it that she moaned when Widowmaker’s tongue slid across her teeth, why did she fist her hands into the woman’s suit to pull her closer? Why were any feelings of disgust, of fear, of contempt so curiously absent?

And then it struck her. She _hated_ this woman. She hated her with every fiber of her being, hated the sweet scent of her hair and the glow in her eyes. Hated the rough kiss she returned and hated the hands running up her thighs. It suddenly seemed no more than natural that she wanted to hurt her, to cause her agony of the worst sort, to see her suffer. But physical pain would just not do.

Lena had never considered herself cruel. But right now, she knew she was. Winston was right. She would get close to her. And when the moment was right, she would tear her apart.

 ‘Take it off,’ she hissed, tugging on Widowmaker’s collar once more. The woman nodded in response, feeling behind her for the electronic lock. The door beeped a moment later and she stepped back, pulling Tracer inside with her. Lena felt as if she left her own humanity back with her goggles on the floor of that hallway as she stepped through the door and pulled it firmly shut behind her.

She looked up to find Widowmaker taking off her gloves and sliding the suit off over her shoulders, letting it fall down into a small pile of fabric. The blue sheen continued down her entire body, giving her an alien-like appearance. She stepped out of the mechanic boots and set them aside. Tracer shrugged out of her jacket, but didn’t fail to obviously let her eyes wander before she stepped closer. Widowmaker’s amused little chuckle was all the consent she needed or wanted. The woman descended upon her again, pushing Lena on the bed with one hand, tugging on her leggings with the other. Their lips met again and again, kisses growing hungrier, more ferocious each time. Nails dragged down Lena’s back and she shuddered, grasping the wide hips of the woman on top of her hard enough to bruise. Lena looked up, laying on her back, as Widowmaker sat back, now straddling her hips. The assassin seductively ran a hand down from her cheek, over her toned midriff to the junction of her thighs, enjoying the way Lena’s eyes followed with extreme precision. Swallowing thickly, Lena tried very hard not to notice the golden ring on Widowmaker’s fourth finger. She didn’t have to try for long, because then Widowmaker distracted her with her other hand, which she lightly caressed from the chronal accelerator down to the elastic of Lena’s underwear, lingering there, stroking from one jutting hipbone to the other.

‘So, _chèrie,’_ Widowmaker whispered breathily, leaning closer, ‘entertain me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final thing I've been getting a lot of comments on: I use the European style of grammar, which uses apostrophes (') for speech and double quotations (") for everything else. Yes, I know in America it's the other way around. Don't blame me, I didn't make the rules. ;) I'm used to it this way from my native language, so please bear with me!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it ;)

Sunlight.

Burning warmth on her cheeks as she rolled to her back on a field of grass, soft sloping hills stretching endlessly towards the horizon. Dandelions bloomed around her, and released their soft balls of fluff into thousands of tiny parachutes leisurely floating on the breeze. The pinpricks of the grass, so green against the bright clear sky, tickled in her arms, her kneecaps, her side. She felt warmth around her back and with her eyes closed, tilted her head. Soft, flowery scented hair filled her face and she took a deep breath, never ever wanting to leave this place.

Lena’s eyes fluttered open, a soft smile still on her face.

Everything was grey. The walls were grey, the floor was grey, the ceiling was grey. A grey door to the left and a small desk to the right was all that adorned the tiny room. Harsh fluorescent light made her eyes water. The smile melted away with her drowsiness, not even leaving a trace. Lena tried to move, but only then noticed the form pressed against her back. Not warm necessarily, but also not cold – a tepid force against her back and slung lazily over her waist. Lena closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wondering why she had ever even considered all of this even a fraction of a good idea. She tried to hope that this was just some bar girl, that she’d taken to a Talon base for some reason. Those things happened, right? It wasn’t so much to hope for?

Lena bit her lip and looked down her own half-naked form. Aside from her accelerator there was only her underwear on her lower half. The arm slung around her waist was blue.

‘Oh, shite..’ Lena mumbled to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She took a deep breath, realization slowly sinking in, and tried to ignore the disgust she felt as she exhaled.

‘Aight, you, lemme out..’ Lena muttered, trying to carefully push Widowmaker’s arm off of her. She didn’t really want to wake the woman, for that would incite situations of an awkwardness she could not even begin to imagine, but honestly she did not have enough patience to try and be gentle and stealthy in getting out of bed. Lena tried to sit up, leaning on her elbow, as suddenly Widowmaker’s long fingers tightened around her waist and pulled her back down with a sleepy groan.

‘ _Ne me quitte pas_ ,’ she slurred against the back of Lena’s neck, letting out a deep breath as she sunk back into sleep. Lena forcibly resisted the urge to shudder. Granted, she felt quite relaxed in ways she hadn’t for quite some time, but that didn’t mean she would rather have woken up with pretty much anyone’s arms wrapped around her waist, than this particular set of arms. Once more, she picked up Widowmaker’s arm from her waist and lifted it from her sweaty, sticky skin. She was in desperate need of a shower. Get all that Widowmaker perfume out of her hair, for one. This time, Widowmaker only gently held on to Lena’s hand, eyebrows furrowing slightly as she refused to wake up.

‘ _Dix minutes de plus_ ,’ she murmured into her pillow, ‘ _Je t’en prie, Gérard.’_

‘Look, I’m not-‘ Lena started, more than a little aggravated, but her breath hitched when she turned her head to look at the sleeping woman. Her hair had fallen out of the ponytail and splayed out on her pillow. Pronounced shoulder blades cast a shadow that ran down the line of her spine. Long, slender fingers ever so gently interlaced themselves with Lena’s. Her face was still, serene. By all means she looked like a corpse. A beautiful corpse, but still. Her blue skin looked even less alive when unmoving, her breathing so slight it was barely noticeable. Lena found herself wondering how much Widowmaker actually still remembered, or if this was just some muscle memory from a long-gone honeymoon.

‘I’m not Gérard,’ Lena said, carefully removing her fingers from Widowmaker’s grasp, ‘and I never will be.’ She stepped into her leggings and picked up her jacket, almost stumbling over the mechanic boots that had fallen over in yesterday’s struggle. She already had a hand on the door handle when she heard the assassin sigh behind her.

‘I know.’

 

The good thing about military facilities, no matter which allegiance they bore, was that their structure was in essence the same. There would be offices, meeting rooms, archives with stacks upon stacks of valuable classified information for the lieutenants and officers. And then there were barracks, showers and mess halls for the lowly soldiers. Widowmaker had a cabin of her own, but Lena soon found that there were large sleeping halls for the Talon mercenaries nearby. There were no personal belongings, and it was obvious bunks were just used as they were – if one was free, it could be used. A soldier would check in to the base, sleep, go on a mission, return to another bunk. Or never return at all. After showering, Lena wandered the grey hallways, not sure which way she’d come from. She rounded a corner, went up a flight of stairs, another flight of stairs, and found herself at ground level. Here, the concrete walls had been painted a pleasing, clean white. She remembered this part of the facility, or at least figured it would be close to where her operation had taken place. The corridor made a sharp turn towards the end.

A small room was around the corner, two windows letting in some of the bleak sun that shone outside. On the right, something resembling a kitchen was installed. A round table stood in the center, several chairs set about in the room. Reaper sat at the table, a newspaper folded out in front of him. Lena stopped dead in her tracks. If there had ever been a sight that she was sure of that not even Winston would ever believe her if she told him, it was this. It was the sight of Reaper in a coffee lounge reading a newspaper. 

‘Good morning,’ he grunted, not looking up from what he was reading.

‘Mornin’, Lena stammered, her feet dragging her inside. She looked around, unsure of where to put her hands, unsure if she was even allowed in here, unsure if she even wanted to be in here.

‘Coffee’s over there, if you want any,’ Reaper nodded towards the kitchen counter. Lena numbly turned towards it. There was something entirely surreal about the simple act of grabbing a cup and pouring some coffee in it. She looked around for milk, but didn’t immediately see any and did absolutely not want to go rummaging around in any cabinets. So she left it as is, turning around slowly, making sure there were two empty seats between her and Reaper as she sat down. It was quiet for a moment, in which Lena nervously took a sip of her too black, too bitter coffee. The taste did nothing to calm her frantic heart.

‘You have a coffee lounge,’ Lena blurted out. Reaper only slightly lifted his head, taking a moment to look at Lena, before nodding and shrugging his shoulders. The newspaper rustled loudly as he turned the page.

‘I didn’t expect you to have a coffee lounge,’ Lena said, more to herself this time, and took another sip of coffee. The bitter taste lingered on her tongue, and a voice in the back of her head said that was a good thing, for it drowned out any other tastes that might have still lingered there.

‘Does your accelerator function properly?’ Reaper suddenly asked, folding the newspaper in half vertically and pressing it flat, laying out the article before him. He continued reading as Lena struggled for words.

‘Yeah. It’s, uh- it’s great. It works,’ a nervous chuckle, ‘it works just fine thank you.’

Reaper nodded approvingly, humming from behind his mask. ‘It’s time you got the chance to test out its real potential. We’ve included some improvements.’ Some improvements indeed, Lena thought miserably. If it weren’t for your improvements I wouldn’t be in this mess.

‘I’ll be dispatching you on a mission soon. I’ll get you the briefing later today.’

‘Oh,’ Lena said, not sure how to answer to him now. Was he supposed to be her superior? Would he choke her too if she refused? ‘Alright.’

Resolute footsteps echoed through the hallway. Widowmaker entered the lounge, her long strides leading her directly towards the coffee machine. With a huff, she turned it on, waiting for the water to warm up.

‘Oh, I will _die_ if I don’t get some coffee now,’ she said dramatically, taking an elastic band from her wrist and tying her hair up with it.

‘Good morning to you, too,’ Reaper grunted. He picked up his newspaper and thumbed through the pages, looking for a particular section. He pulled a single sheet loose from the rest and put it down on the table next to him. Without another word, he smoothed out the page he’d been on and resumed reading. Widowmaker opened the mini-fridge and blindly grabbed some creamer, clearly used to doing this. She royally poured it into her coffee and set it back to cool in one fluid motion. Then she grabbed her drink and slid into the chair next to Reaper, picking up the page he’d set out for her, eyes darting over it.

Lena witnessed the ritual with astonishment. The list of things Winston would never believe was growing exponentially.

‘Is it interesting?’ Lena heard herself ask, regret pooling in her stomach before she’d even finished the sentence. She took a big gulp of coffee, hoping she would burn her tongue so badly she could never speak again.

‘She only ever reads the obituaries,’ Reaper said, folding up his newspaper, sitting back slightly.

‘Ah, there he is,’ Widowmaker suddenly smiled, turning the page to Reaper, tapping on a particular black box printed on the page. ‘”Dear father, grandfather and uncle.” Little does his wife know he was cheating on her with at least two others.’

‘Well he won’t be doing any of that anymore,’ Reaper got up and picked up his empty cup. Widowmaker emptied hers hurriedly and gave it to him so she wouldn’t have to get up.

‘A rifle round between the eyes makes most people stop doing much of anything anymore,’ she smiled eerily as she set down the newspaper sheet.

‘What of his mistress?’ Reaper rinsed the cups under the tap. Lena had to do a double take but _Reaper was definitely doing the dishes._  

‘I let her go. She had nothing to do with his corporation.’

‘Acceptable. Though don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental.’ Reaper threw her a look over his shoulder. Lena didn’t understand what it meant, unreadable as he was underneath his mask, but Widowmaker just waved him off.

‘She was not the target.’ Her gaze lingered on Reaper, and her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Well?’

‘Yeah, yeah, you did good.’ He answered dutifully, and Widowmaker smiled contently.

‘That’s what I thought.’

Lena took another gulp of coffee, clenching her hands around her cup so tightly her knuckles shone white. Even with all the knowledge in the world, she would not have known what to say.

 

'Please, sit still now,' Angela's hands trembled as she stopped Genji from slumping forward, trying to get him to lean his back against the wall. 'I'm trying to run diagnostics.' Genji's head fell forward, his chin resting on his chest. Immediately Angela responded by pressing his head upright again, trying to catch his gaze.

'Stay with me, stay with me, you'll be fine, I promise-' She grabbed a scanner and tried to scan his vitals. Several red lights and beeps erupted from the machine. Angela grit her teeth, willing herself to calmness.

'Blood pressure is ok, it didn't hit your circulation, brain activity.. low oxygen?' Her eyes jumped from the scanner to Genji's chest, where his artificially repaired lungs were built inside his exoskeleton. She couldn't open him up now. Instead, she reached for his mask and pulled it off. As soon as the latches disconnected, Genji gasped for breath. Angela bent the wires hanging from Genji's shattered shoulder stump so they wouldn't accidentally connect and cause a short-circuit. She checked the valves and pipes for as far she could see. The arm had broken off relatively clean, only the connecting wiring and artificial muscle was ripped. Then she noticed a deep scratch on the inner ventilation system, which could be a cause of the low oxygen level. For now, he'd live. He'd made it this far, after all. However she needed to close off the open machinery to keep Genji's inner skeleton clean and functioning. A new arm would take time.

 With some difficulty, Fareeha entered the room and bent through one knee.

'Angela,' she said, her voice low, but urgent, 'tell me what you need.'

'Contact Winston,' Mercy replied, turning to Pharah, her face stone cold. 'Tell him to find and ready any equipment he still has left.' Pharah steadied herself and got back up, already looking around to find a means of communication. Angela felt her face being tilted by a gentle caress on her cheek. When she looked back, large brown eyes were staring back at her. The marred skin around Genji's face didn't bother her in the slightest, and she gently placed her hand on top of Genji's.

'We'll get through this,' she whispered to him. He smiled back at her.

'I was afraid,' he said, his voice so different without the mask, much softer, much more human, 'that I would not get to see you again.'

'Genji,' she whispered in reply, eyes glistening. 'I will take care of you until the day I die.' Sighing, she planted a soft kiss on his scarred lips. In the other room, Fareeha resolutely turned her gaze to the wall, determined not to look, not to feel the bite of jealousy nipping at her heart. Determined not to let herself get distracted in the face of more pressing matters. The phone she'd lifted to her ear connected with a low beep.

'Yes?'

'Winston, this is Amari,' she said, matter of factly, 'I'm calling on behalf of doctor Angela Ziegler..'

 

Angela turned on the lights in her old medical station, dusting off the counters as quickly as she could. As long as only medical repairs were required, there would be no risk of infection. She could do this. The sight of the empty cabinets and depleted containers made her feel an anguish like she hadn't in a long time. She had not wanted to come back here. Had not wanted to have to call on Overwatch again for help. But who else could? The operating lights were dim, running solely on the power of Winston's small generator.

'Bring him in!' she called out, and Pharah lead Genji to the operating table, carefully supporting him under his remaining arm.

'Can you assist me?' Angela asked, quickly putting her instruments in order. Scalpel, tweezers, wiring, sutures, sutures, why were there no sutures? Fareeha dusted off her hands on her trousers. 'Of course.'

'We'll close off the gap first. Keep an eye on his vitals,' Angela firmly instructed, connecting several scanners to special ports in Genji's exoskeleton. When everything was in place, she took a deep breath.

'Are you ready, Genji?' Her hand rested on the man's metal chestplate, the slow thrumming of the mechanically assisted heart underneath. His eyes found hers, his expression reading nothing but absolute trust.

'I am ready,' he answered, nodding at her. Angela smiled momentarily at him.

'Let's begin.'

One by one, the doctor began to remove every piece of damaged equipment, making provisional repairs wherever she could. The shoulder circuits were closed off or disconnected where necessary. Angela painstakingly extracted the damaged ventilation tube and replaced it, with surgical precision sliding it back in place.

'Vitals?'

'Low oxygen.'

' _Verdammt._ ' Angela muttered under her breath. 'I'm going to open you up, Genji.' He only nodded, his stare never leaving Angela's face. She did not, could not look at him. She was Mercy now. She had a job to do. The scalpel slid with ease through the rubber seal underneath Genji's chestplate. She cut through the connecting bonds and folded it aside, revealing the inner workings of his artifical body. Underneath transparent membranes, his remaining organs were visible, closed off from any outside influences. His lungs, only partially human, expanded and retracted in a slow rythm. His heart was barely visible under the new valves and supportive constructs around it. A power unit hummed quietly underneath the heart. Angela listened. Aside from the soft mechanical chime of well-oiled machinery moving, she heard a hiss. Her gaze traveled down to the oxygen and carbondioxide wiring underneath the lungs. The leak had to be in there, but it would take too much time to replace them all. She had to check which one was damaged.

'You'll need to breathe manually for a couple of minutes, Genji,' Angela warned him. He narrowed his eyes.

'Without any respiratory assistance?'

'You'll have mechanical assistance,' she quickly reassured him, watching the metal beams retract the lungs as he sighed in slight relief. 'But no extra oxygen and carbiondioxide transport. Tell me as soon as you start to get dizzy.'

'Understood,' he nodded, closing his eyes, focusing his mind.

'Move the generator closer, Fareeha.' Angela gestured, and took two cables from the generator. 'I'm going to attach him to external power and remove the mobile power unit. I can't risk damaging it while checking the tubes.' The generator sputtered when the new connection was made, but soon recovered and resumed its quiet hum. Angela closed off the valves on the tubes on both sides. Several valves had been built into them to grant for easier replacement and repair. She silently thanked her past self for thinking of it. A syringe filled with water pressed into the port into the first valve, filling up the closed-off tube compartment with water. It didn't leak. Angela cursed under her breath, replacing the syringe with a small handheld vacuum pump and removing the water from the tube. 'Tube O1, no leakage. Moving on with C1.' The next valve was closed and she injected another syringe of water into it. This time, a small droplet formed on the outside of the tube. With a wooden applicator, she applied some polymer glue to it, waiting impatiently as it cured. She injected the next tubes with water as well, and tried to work as fast as he could. 'Vitals?'

'Low oxygen. Dropping fast.' Genji's heart had started speeding up, throbbing visibly faster now.

'Are you breathing, Genji?' Angela harshly tapped him on the shoulder, suppressing the panic from being audible in her voice. He barely nodded, and his voice was weak.

'Yes, doctor.'

'Are you dizzy? Nauseous?'

With a loud bang, the generator gave out. The lights were killed instantly, the darkness falling onto them like cold, sudden rain. Genji's green glow burned their eyes for a fraction of a second before dimming and fluttering out. The two women yelped in shock simultaneously.

'What happened!?' Fareeha's low voice echoed, urging Angela into motion.

'Disconnect everything else! We have to get him powered back up! Quickly!' Angela shouted, placing her hands over Genji's open chest and started resuscitation. She frantically sought for a sign of life in the darkness, any movement, any hint that he was still there.

'What about his power unit?'

'The system is full of water, if I put it back,  he'll short-circuit!' Angela panted through the cardiac massage, counting the movements in her head.

'Restarting generator!' Fareeha said, kneeled in front of the machine. It hummed hopefully for a couple of seconds, then died down again. She felt ice cold fear pooling in her stomach as she pressed the button again, trying to breathe life into the generator once more. It sputtered again, this time not even humming, and then ceased all activity. Fareeha tried again, and again, not eliciting any response from the machine.

 'Angela,' she said, ice cold fear pooling in her stomach, '...restarting has failed.'

 

'Are you done now?' Lena leaned on the doorpost of the cabin, arms crossed over one another in a defiant gesture. Widowmaker collected the mission brief papers and stacked them, idly putting them aside.

'Yes, let's get this over with, shall we?' she answered sweetly. She got up from her chair and picked up her rifle, swinging it over her shoulder. Lena rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

'Just to make this clear, _chèrie_. I am in charge. Even though we are being dispatched together as elite agents, you are not to question me. Understood?' She peered into Lena's eyes, gaze cold as ever. Instead of fear, Lena only felt hollow emptiness as she looked back.

'Yeah, I get it.' She stepped back to let Widowmaker take the lead and followed, her hands folded nonchalantly behind her head. 'You don't need to try and intimidate me, though,' Lena quipped, trying to lift her own spirits, 'when it comes down to it, you're just a girl. If I beat you, you bruise, like any other girl.' Tracer blinked in front of Widowmaker, grinning slyly as she added, 'and when I stroke you right, you scream my name _just like any other girl_.' Widowmaker let out a huff of breath that could be interpreted as a curt laugh, with the help of some vivid imagination. She stroked Lena's cheek with her fingertips as she passed her by once more, corners of her mouth turning into a grin.

'Well you did certainly not disappoint,' she hissed, walking briskly, 'as you managed to meet every sad expectation I had of you.'

'I'm sure those expectations were the result of many a night spent dreaming about me,' Lena chirped, absolutely unfazed. It was as if since Genji's battle, a numbness had set into her spirit, that took the sharp edges off all her emotions, that made her uncaring when she should have cared. She wondered what she would do, if she was faced with former allies again, now as enemies. Would she even still be able to go back to Overwatch after all this?  

They walked outside onto the transport platform together. Two faceless agents packed thick survival packs into an open helicopter in the middle of the platform.

'Don't flatter yourself,' Widowmaker said conversationally, side-eyeing her partner. 'I have much better people to dream about.' Lena had already opened her mouth again to reply something snarky, but closed it when the words sank in. The awkward, half concerned look she gave the assassin was met with a mildly confused, mildly upset one. It was only a moment, but she saw Widowmaker's eyes narrow, her brows furrow just a fraction in an expression of anguish. A moment later, it was gone.

Without a word, Widowmaker strode towards the aircraft and jumped inside. Lena followed, ducking a bit under the rotating blades. She watched Widowmaker climb into one of the front seats, and checked if there was room for her in the back. It was stacked with supplies and two large, sand-coloured backpacks.

'Can you fly a helicopter?' Lena asked, quite amazed that the assassin had so confidently settled herself in the co-pilot's seat. The hearty chuckle that came as a reply surprised her even more. She'd expected a sigh, or an annoyed huff, or "shut up, Tracer". Not this light, ringing, honestly amused laugh.

'No, you goose,' Widowmaker turned in her seat to look at Lena over the headrest, a vague grin on her face, 'but _you_ can.´

´Oh!´ Lena replied, the sound of surprise escaping her before the words truly made sense in her head. The empty pilot´s chair instantly seemed to beckon her. It had been a while, sure, but, why would she refuse? A surge of energy flowed through her as she stepped forward, clambered into the seat and strapped herself in. She fastened the straps of her headset and made sure her goggles were on tight. She saw Widowmaker give a sign to the Talon agents outside the vehicle before she secured her own headset. The agents closed the aircraft off and made way for it to ascend.

'Oh, one more thing,' Widowmaker said, her voice slightly distorted over the radio channel. She held up a smooth key teasingly, then gave it to Lena. 'Don't break the heli, Reaper will kill me.'

Lena gave her a sideways glance with pursed lips.

'We can't have that, now can we,' Lena answered flatly. She connected the key and her eyes lit up as much as the dashboard in front of her, the engine coming to life with a rumbling groan. She ran the protocols, testing the engine, the rotor blades, as if it was second nature to her, as if she'd flown a helicopter every day. With a light tap on the communications channel she opened the radio signal. A wide grin appeared on her face as she spoke into the headset.

'This is mission aircraft 623, ready for takeoff. It is cloudy with good wind conditions, awaiting permission.'

'Permission granted, mission 623.' The flight operator answered. Lena enjoyed the surge of anticipation immensely. Smiling widely, she turned to Widowmaker.

'This is your captain speaking, we have been cleared for takeoff. My name is Tracer and we would like to thank you for choosing Talon airlines.' 

Widowmaker rolled her eyes, but laughed all the same when she answered, 'We wish you a pleasant flight.'  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your thoughts and comments so far! They really brighten my day!

It was only a short flight to a small airport, where the two women -to Lena's delight- transferred to a tiny, inconspicuous airplane. Transferring didn't take more than minutes; as soon as Lena successfully landed the heli, Talon agents swarmed the aircraft. They relocated the supplies inside to the airplane as smoothly and organized like a racing pitstop. Before she knew it, she'd strapped herself into the pilot's seat of the aircraft, ran the protocols, and lifted the machine into the air. Widowmaker sat contentedly next to her, often times simply staring straight ahead, her chest only occasionally moving as she breathed slowly, shallowly.

Time slowly ticked by without either of them speaking. Lena followed the directions she'd been given. She flew east, and then north, making a wide circle to throw off any possible pursuers. It was not until hours later that she noticed the ground started turning white and mountains grew higher and higher, snow white peaks reaching out to the sky. The air was cold, but remained clear. Lena sat back as autopilot took over some of the simpler tasks. She reveled in the sight of the ground way down below, like a miniature, crafted with extreme detail. Every tiny pine tree slightly different, every rock characteristic in its own way. The snow covering the ground looked like a crystal blanket over the idyllic, mountainous terrain. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed Widowmaker had slumped slightly, her head tilted forward to rest her chin on her chest, her eyes closed.

'ETA is thirty minutes, sleepyhead,' Lena giggled into the intercom, taking immense pleasure in the sight of Widowmaker jolting upright from the sudden noise. The simple things were the best, they really were. Lena laughed as she switched back to manual pilot and grabbed firm hold of the yoke. 'Run that briefing by me one more time.'

'You'll land the plane on the landing zone of the former Swedish Omnium airport. Once there, we raid the place for the communications tech Reaper wanted.' Widowmaker stated flatly, almost monotonously, as if she was reading it from the mission brief papers itself. 'Anyone who is not one of the two of us, should be considered a target and eliminated. I don't expect to meet anyone here, since it's been abandoned for years, but it does not hurt to be vigilant.'

'Vigilant.' Lena scoffed. 'Don't you mean " _on the qui vive_ "?'

'Well look at you,' Widowmaker smirked, 'speaking the language that truly matters. Shall I do the rest of the briefing in French, too?'

'Not what I was getting at,' Lena replied sulkily. She took the yoke and lead the plane into a lazily sloping curve to the left. Turning up the flaps she made sure the plane didn't accelerate too much. Soon, she’d have to start up the brakes. It was a matter of precision, of feeling the balance, of becoming one with the air that lifted them.

'There's more to the brief?' Lena then asked, quickly glancing at Widowmaker's stony expression before focusing on the dashboard and the plane once more.

'Yes, though I was not supposed to tell you until arrival. Right now will do, though.' Widowmaker stretched her back, and casually leaned her legs onto the dashboard, crossing them at the knees. Lena narrowed her eyes at her, not wanting to get into a full-out fight while she was trying to safely land the plane.

'I really don't-,' Lena started, holding the yoke with force so the plane wouldn't dive too quickly, '-appreciate you holding this sort of stuff from me.'

'Oh please,' Widowmaker stretched out her neck to check out the ground rapidly coming closer, 'only a fool would give a Talon initiate all information at once-'

'I am _not_ a Talon initiate!' Lena yelled, pulling on the yoke, making the plane pull up rapidly instead of descend. Widowmaker yelped as she was thrown back into her seat by the sudden force.

'What are you doing?!'

'Reminding you,' Lena gave her a sideways grin as she leveled out the aircraft, 'who exactly is controlling this plane.' The Brit raised her eyebrows and mockingly shrugged. 'I'd be nice to my pilot, if I were you.'

'You are going to get us both killed,' Widowmaker hissed, pulling herself upright. 'And here I was thinking we could be _friends_ ,' she drew out the words, venom dripping from her voice, 'I mean, you were _so eager to get along_ before.'

'Oh, you want to talk about that?' Lena's voice raised to a shrill, high pitch as she directed the plane downwards again, 'you want to talk about the things we did that night?'

'Well we could but- _mon Dieu,_ Tracer, PULL UP THE PLANE!' Widowmaker cried out as the plane descended almost vertically, racing towards the ground at terrifying speed. Lena leaned forward, feeling the airplane, the tremor of its wings, the flaps turned all the way down. It was an agile little beast, this plane. She'd show her.

Right before their course was at a point of no return, she pulled the yoke back, abruptly changing the plane's direction.  They shot back up into the air, the plane spinning around its axis like a ballerina before Lena lead it into a wide backwards loop in the air. The engines roared loudly in their ears, drowning out all other sound. She felt her stomach drop pleasantly as they swerved through the air, the plane not unlike a swallow in flight, rapidly changing course. She noticed the Omnium not far away from them and leveled the plane once more.

'You were saying?' Lena said, leaning back casually in a confident, mocking pose. She noticed Widowmaker's fingers unclamp from her armrests. Grinning, Lena pressed a single finger against the pulse point in the woman's neck. There, she felt a slow, weak heartbeat, instead of the thrill she'd hoped to find. Widowmaker slapped her hand away with an annoyed huff.

'Get us on the ground, you've deterred the mission long enough,' she said, avoiding Lena's gaze.

'Come on. You know what I want to hear.'

'We don't have time for this, Tracer-'

'Say it or I'm doing it again.' Lena teasingly let her fingers slide over the top of the yoke, and Widowmaker, jerking upright as if she'd been stung, gestured for her to be calm.

'Alright, alright!' she gritted her teeth, ' _Merde._ What is it you want from me, exactly?'

'Tell me you're sorry for keeping secrets,' Lena casually demanded, tapping her fingers impatiently on the yoke. It took all her willpower to not let her mouth curl into a grin as she watched Widowmakers's gaze flicker nervously from her face to her hands.

'You _want_ me to lie to you?' Widowmaker sounded genuinely confused. That made Lena's face fall a bit, but not enough to wipe away her smug expression completely.

'Fine. Then if you admit I'm a great pilot, I'll consider it acceptable.'

A red light and high-pitch beep effectively cut off the conversation. Lena whipped her face towards the dashboard, checking the alarms.

'Tracer,' Widowmaker's voice was dangerously low as she demanded, '...what is going on.' 

Lena chuckled nervously. It truly was a pity that rewinding time was a one-person-only affair, and that it didn't work on regular aircrafts. Hell, it hadn't even worked on the Slipstream itself. Right now, she could really use a second chance.

'We're, uh, almost out of fuel.' Lena quickly started to set buttons and change settings on the dashboard, focusing on landing. 'I might have to make an emergency landing. Get strapped in.'

'I hate you,' Widowmaker muttered, almost conversationally, as she tightened her seatbelt.

 

The plane began its inevitable descend, rapidly losing altitude instead of speed. Lena held onto the yoke as tight as she could, trying to keep the nose of the plane up. Flaps, engines, brakes, everything seemed to move in slow motion except for the ground approaching. Landing gear out – perhaps it would take some of the damage. Lena felt a spark of hope as she noticed the plane slowing down slightly, though not nearly enough. Around the Omnium was a vast field of ice and snow, all trees cut away long ago for space and resources. She directed the plane towards the field.

‘We’re not slowing down enough!’ Lena yelled over the roar of the engines, into the intercom. The ground was coming closer now. She could see the trees and frozen rivers growing bigger with each second. An idea formed in her head, an insane, absolutely mental idea. As the plane dove deeper, faster, other alternatives seemed to melt away in her mind.

‘Unbuckle your seatbelt!’ Lena yelled. Widowmaker had clamped her fingers around the armrests of her seat, pushing herself into the back of her seat, her whole body tense.

‘Are you insane?!’ Widowmaker replied back, her eyes wide as she looked at Lena. Lena let one hand go of the yoke and unfastened her own straps.

‘Do you wish to live?’ She called back. They were running out of time. Lena felt her heart beat hard in her chest, her breath surging, her head reeling. With one hand, she climbed half out of her seat and tore Widowmaker’s seatbelt open, the other one holding the yoke steady. She saw more than heard the woman cry something out to her, but she couldn’t hear over the roar of the falling plane and her heart pounding in her ears. She hooked an arm over Widowmaker’s waist and tightly held on to her. Widowmaker struggled weakly in her grip, so she only grabbed her harder. Then she looked out the window. She counted in her head the seconds she’d have left before the plane would hit the ground. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five… she closed her eyes, and blinked.

She felt time bending and wrapping around itself, placing her back in the same place only a few seconds later. The plane had fallen further, so time launched Lena into mid-air, Widowmaker sliding loose from her grip as she fell. She felt herself wrapping her arms around her chest, bracing for impact.

When she finally hit the ground, she rolled on the fresh powder snow, diverting most of the force from the fall. She felt herself slide several metres, and painfully bump into stones and debris. The terrible noise of the plane wreaking havoc on the field, tumbling into the fresh snow, coming to a full stop at the edge of the forest trembled in her ears and lungs. Her whole body ached, but she’d survived.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, was the trail she’d left in the snow, outlined dark against the virgin blanket around it. It drew a long, lumpy stripe towards her own body in the waning daylight. She wondered how she could be okay after a fall like this. Perhaps the snow dulled her senses, and killed the worst of her pain for now. Lena shakily stood up, wiping the snow off her goggles, and took in the sight. The plane had crashed a long way from her, meaning she’d taken quite a fall even with her last-second escape. Smoke came out of the carcass of the plane, broken against a valiant, tall pine tree, that had only bent slightly. A deep gash was torn into the landscape where the plane had slid across the field, littered with supplies that had fallen out during the crash. A second, smaller trail diverted off to the side, not far from where Lena herself had landed.

‘Widowmaker!’ she called out, only now noticing the roar and screeching noise still echoing in her ears. When no answer came, she tried again. And again.

Lifting her feet over the knee-deep snow, Lena ploughed forward with great difficulty. Her knees still shook and her breath wouldn’t calm down. She could barely believe she was alive. ‘Widowmaker! Come on!’ she called again, to no avail. The trail she’d seen led off to the side, and she followed it. An angry, red stain was left on a rock on her left hand side. Lena’s breath hitched in her throat. Squinting, she thought she could see movement on the end of the trail, and sped up her wade through the snow.

‘Widowmaker!’ Lena called out. This time, she got an answer.

‘Don’t come near me!’ The assassin’s broken voice answered. Lena promptly ignored her words, quickly stepping closer.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Lena managed to sound affronted through her heaving breath. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Don’t come near me!’ Widowmaker screeched again, scrambling backwards. She pulled the switchblade out of her boot and threateningly pointed it at Lena, her arm shaking uncontrollably. Lena froze, and put up her hands in a submissive gesture. She let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding when Widowmaker lowered the knife in response.

Widowmaker’s visor had been smashed on the left side, the glass and lenses broken. The black casing of the visor had been torn open on the sharp end of the rock. A stream of blood came out from underneath, covering one half of the woman’s face, seeping into her eye and over her lips.

‘Let me help you,’ Lena said, softer now. She held up her hands as she inched closer. Widowmaker did not raise her knife again, and instead tried to wipe at her bloodied eye with the back of her other hand. Lena kneeled in front of her, exhaling slowly. She saw Widowmaker do the same. Good.

‘I’m going to take off your visor,’ Lena said, raising her hands slowly towards the woman’s blue face. She saw Widowmaker follow her motion with her eyes, but she did not object. Carefully, Lena lifted the shattered visor and set it aside in the snow. A dark red ring appeared around it almost immediately. Continuing in a slow, predictable movement, she lifted her hand towards Widowmaker’s face once more. There was a long gash starting from her forehead onto her temple. ‘I heard head injuries always bleed a whole lot,’ Lena said, trying and failing to reassure the other woman.

‘Who would have guessed,’ Widowmaker murmured, and both felt a hint of a smile ghosting over their lips.

‘Stay still,’ Lena said as she pulled up her sleeve and patted the wound, clearing away some of the blood. The wound was long, but not very deep. ‘You’re going to be fine. Here.’ Lena pressed some fresh snow against the wound, the snow compressing into an icy mush against Widowmaker’s forehead. The woman didn’t even flinch, and instead used the melting ice dripping down to wipe the blood away from her face.

‘We need to get out of here,’ Widowmaker said, overthinking each word as she came to her senses. ‘You’ll catch hypothermia in this snow.’

‘So will you,’ Lena said, ‘let’s see if we can get inside. We can salvage what’s left of our supplies later.’

 

Widowmaker found herself perched up against one of the concrete walls in the heart of the factory. Across from her, a dusty conveyor belt stood, machinery frozen in motion as if time had suddenly been stopped. Around her the crates were stacked high, reaching towards the ceiling of the warehouse. One half-empty backpack lay across from her, its side charred and torn. She’d –thankfully- found one of the survival heat units still intact in the back pack, and tried to warm her hands over the small flame. A flash of blue indicated Tracer returning once more.

‘Found some more stuff,’ the girl chirped, seemingly happy to have found some purpose. Tracer carried several smaller packages in her arms, bags and packets dangling from their straps around her arms. She set down the load next to the opened backpack, then turned to Widowmaker again. ‘Mostly provisions, I think. We’ll need to check what’s in those smaller packages to see what we have left.’ Widowmaker watched Tracer’s lips move as she formed the words, a puff of breath condensing in the air. Her own breath didn’t make the same effect. It was strange, though not disconcerting.

‘And guess what,’ Tracer demanded her attention once more, ‘look what was still intact.’ She lifted a thick strap from across her shoulders, revealing Widowmaker’s rifle from behind her back. ‘Found it in the cockpit. Or, well, what was left of the cockpit.’

Widowmakers fingers slid around the familiar metal as she took the weapon from Tracer, letting her eyes glide over it in disbelief. ‘Thank you,’ she said, running her hands over the metal body of the rifle. Tracer stood back up, her hands in her sides and a sideways smirk on her face.

‘I had a feeling you’d be happy with that.’ Widowmaker let her eyes glide over the woman posed before her. Hair tousled, the rim of her goggles cracked, smears and stains and cuts on the leather of her jacket. Her eyes glowing just as brightly as the device on her chest. A bloodstain on her upper thigh, dripping down towards the knee and diluting there, becoming a diffuse stain of reddish brown. Widowmaker reached out, carefully avoiding the flame of the heating unit, and let her fingers trail down the fabric of Tracer’s legging, over the knee.

‘Your clothes are soaked. You need to take them off if you don’t want to die of hypothermia.’ Widowmaker said, setting her rifle aside and reaching for the backpack. From near the bottom, she pulled out a blanket she’d found earlier, the professional kind where one side is insulated with aluminum foil. ‘Use this until your clothes are dry.’  

‘As much as you’d probably love to sit back and watch me get naked,’ Tracer quipped, taking off her soaked shoes and warming her feet carefully by the flame, ‘you’ve also been rolling around in the snow.’

‘I’m not cold,’ Widowmaker answered, pleased with that answer, because it was true. ‘And we have only one blanket.’ Tracer opened her mouth to retort, but Widowmaker cut her off with a sharp gesture of her hand.

‘Before you start blaming me,’ she snarled, ‘we had _plenty_ of provisions, equipment, warm clothes, jet fuel and blankets _before_ you decided to crash the plane.’

‘I saved your ass,’ Tracer muttered, avoiding her gaze. Widowmaker felt the heat of anger rise in her chest.

‘You could have just landed the plane and we would never have needed saving!’

‘I could have crashed that plane with the full intent of disrupting this mission, wounding Talon, and killing you!’ Tracer snarled back, pointing accusingly at Widowmaker. Widowmaker’s voice dropped low as she felt the anger constricting her lungs, tightening like a band around her heart. Instinctively, she reached for the knife in her boot.

‘Then why didn’t you?!’ Widowmaker heard herself growl. Tracer’s expression went from fury, to something else, somewhere between melancholy and confusion. Widowmaker found it hard to read, the nuances of the emotion escaping her, forgotten after being absent for years.

‘I don’t know,’ Tracer sighed. ‘But the thing is,’ she sought for words, swallowing thickly, ‘when it really mattered, I chose to save you. And you have done the same for me, in the past.’ She sat down, stared into the flame, and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘Can you explain that?’

‘No,’ Widowmaker admitted. She felt the anger drain from her, leaving behind only cold emptiness once more. ‘I have theories, but none of them seem very probable.’

‘Humor me,’ Tracer answered. Widowmaker wasn’t sure whether her eyes naturally had a mischievous glint, or if it was a reflection of the fire.

‘Ah,’ Widowmaker began, absentmindedly touching the wound on her forehead. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, and she could feel the bloodclots drying. ‘I figured, you might be unaware that you are being manipulated.’

‘Manipulated how?’

‘You willingly let Talon operate on you, you foolish girl,’ Widowmaker felt her eyes narrow of their own accord, a sudden pressing pain in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. ‘Talon rebuilt your accelerator from scratch. Who knows what they put in? Perhaps they implanted your brain, as well.’

‘You’ve got a point,’ Tracer said. She sounded slightly defeated. ‘But it’s not like I had a choice.’ Her eyes shot back and forth for a short moment as she thought. ‘And I don’t have brain implants. I got thoroughly searched when I returned to Overwatch.’

‘Of course. The overzealous doctor, yes?’ Widowmaker asked, and Tracer nodded, a strange veil of sadness ghosting over her face, fading as soon as it had come.

‘Yes. Doctor Angela Ziegler, also known as Mercy.’ Tracer threw her a piercing look. Widowmaker met it for a moment, but didn’t hold her searching, questioning gaze for long. ‘Doesn’t that name ring a bell?’ the girl asked.

‘Not particularly.’ Widowmaker shrugged. ‘She’s part of Overwatch, a possible target, same as you.’

‘I see.’ Tracer did not pursue the subject, and Widowmaker didn’t particularly feel compelled to either. She noticed the girl shiver - she was a petite little thing, really- wrapping her small arms around narrow shoulders, rubbing circles to regain some warmth. Widowmaker picked up the blanket again, holding it out toward the girl, one eyebrow raised. She challenged her. Tracer reluctantly took the blanket, then scooted closer. She rested the back of her hand against Widowmaker’s forehead, and made a disapproving sound with her tongue.

‘You may not feel cold,’ she said, shrugging out of her jacket, goosebumps immediately covering her skin, ‘but you _are_ cold. You don’t get out of those clothes, you’ll be dead come morning.’

‘What do you suggest, we share the blanket?’ Widowmaker apprehensively looked from the blanket to Tracer’s face and back. There were many alarm bells ringing in her head, mostly the one where she was unprotected and forced into a tight space with Tracer, where she’d have no control over the situation. It was a bad idea.

‘I see no other option. Look, I don’t much like it either,’ Tracer said, shrugging out of her leggings, that clung to her legs, ‘but I like waking up to dead bodies next to me even less. So, you’ve got no choice.’ Suddenly, Tracer sat on her knees, leaning slightly on Widowmaker’s lap. The goosebumps rippled over her bare skin, spreading down quickly. Widowmaker would have slided backwards, put some distance between them, but found herself pinned against the wall. Tracer tugged on her collar.

‘Off.’ She demanded. Widowmaker felt a tug of a smirk on the corner of her mouth.

‘There it is again,’ she said, amusement lacing her voice. Tracer raised her eyebrows in surprise.

‘Is what again?’

‘That eagerness,’ Widowmaker laughed. Despite everything, she felt amusement bubbling in her chest, warming her much the same way alcohol did. The feeling resided quickly, but the corners of her mouth remained curled. Tracer managed to turn beet red despite her pale, cold complexion.

‘Can you just shut up, and get naked?’ she growled, stomping off a few steps to pick up the blanket next to her and set up a place to sleep. They would both be able to sit on it and wrap it around their shoulders if they huddled close. Widowmaker pulled the damp cloth off her skin, relishing in the feeling of the sticky fabric being removed. Tracer would not kill her, not tonight. She dared to trust that much. She reached for her rifle when she heard Tracer’s voice behind her, ‘Oh no. You leave that weapon right where it is. I’m not sleeping in your arms if you have a rifle within reach.’

Reluctantly, she let go of the metal. Widowmaker held up her hands, to show she didn’t hold anything else, then walked over to the girl. Tracer sat on the blanket, holding both ends ready to wrap it around herself. Widowmaker hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to her, pressing the sides of their shoulders together as they tried to close the blanket as much as possible over their chests.

‘Christ, you are even colder than I remember,’ Tracer whined. Widowmaker huffed in response, a twinge of annoyance in her voice.

‘You are unbearably warm, _chèrie_.’

‘Shite. This is not working, is it?’ Tracer said, a little crestfallen, as the blanket refused to close over them, letting out whatever warmth they had managed to trap. Widowmaker watched her curiously as she bit her lip, then ran a hand through her hair, shook her head, then sighed deeply. It was a strange experience, watching her think, watching her switch from emotion to emotion, coming to a stop at “resignation”.

‘Alright. I’ll spoon ya if you promise never to speak of it again.’ Tracer stared hard at her hands. Widowmaker thought for a moment, then shrugged. That seemed like a fair deal. Rather cheap, actually. She nodded, turning over to her side. Tracer’s scalding arm rested on her waist, her breath burning the back of her neck. She felt a leg being wrapped around her own, pulling her closer as Tracer closed the blanket over them. It rolled neatly, closing just barely at the seam. Widowmaker pulled the two ends together, effectively pressing Tracer harder against her back. The accelerator digging into her spine was uncomfortable, but it would do, for now.

' _B_ _onne nuit_ ,’ Widowmaker said. She was not sure why, but it felt appropriate somehow. She felt Tracer shake her head against the nape of her neck. The girl whined miserably.

‘Oh, your feet are the _worst_. Try not to touch me with those icicles, please.’

 

'Open the valves, get me some towels!' Angela commanded, never losing the rhythm of the chest compressions. 'Get all that water out, now!' Fareeha didn't waste a moment, she grabbed whatever paper towels she could find, stuffing them under the tubing before opening the valves. The water soaked through the paper quickly, and she tried to remove them before stuffing more under it. Small streams of water ran down Genji's machinery, over the transparent membrane of his organs, and she could feel it on her fingers rather than see it.

'Power unit,' Angela panted, the exhaustion of resuscitation slowly starting to take its toll.

'What about the-' Fareeha couldn't finish her sentence as Angela snarled at her, 'Now!' She reached under Angela's arms to locate the port for the power unit. It was damp, but it could work. In her mind, she prayed this was a good idea, as she clicked the power unit back into place. A blue spark shot up as she connected it.

For a moment, there was only darkness. She heard Angela heaving under the unrelenting strain of the resuscitations.  Then, from the chest outwards, a green glow spread, and started to illuminate the room. Fareeha's eyes widened as she saw the machinery slowly restart, the lungs moving, the heart beating. She felt a surge of happiness.

'He's going to be-' her breath hitched when she saw the doctor's face, ashen and tired. Angela stared at the scanner besides Genji's bed, her hands still folded over his heart. Fareeha had never seen her look so desperate, so forlorn, as she did right now. Hesitantly, she spoke up again. '..He's going to be alright, isn't he?'

Angela closed her eyes, her brows knit together as she tried to keep check of her emotions. When Angela finally straightened her back, Fareeha could see all humanity slowly draining from her face.

'Circulation restored, machine-assisted respiration and pulse restored. Oxygen levels depleted. Brain activity, none.' A choked sob sent a shockwave through her shoulders. Fareeha moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder, her head bowed down respectfully.

'I'm so sorry, Angela,' she whispered to the blonde, who stared at her feet with an empty gaze.

'Time of death,' Angela whispered, her voice so choked it was barely audible. She checked the watch on her wrist, the hands on the clock only barely visible in the green glow, 'four past nine PM.' 


	10. Chapter 10

Lena woke from the sharp sting of her sore, aching shoulder. Her right side was plagued by a dull throbbing, and when she tried to move, she felt the bruises smarting under her skin. So perhaps blinking out of a crashing plane had not been the best of ideas.

Then again, she hadn’t had many of the best ideas lately anyway. Everything seemed to go from bad to worse and now she found herself in the middle of nowhere, some factory in a vast icy expanse, with the woman who had set all of her misfortune in motion.

Her hand drifted up from Widowmaker’s hipbone to her slender neck, and Lena carefully closed her fingers around it. Under her fingertips, she could just barely feel a pulse, beating lightly against cool skin. It would be easy, so incredibly easy, to clamp down. To tear her breath away from her, like Widowmaker had torn Lena’s life away. Nonchalant. Uncaring. Ruthless.

Lena breathed in the scent of Widowmaker’s hair as she pressed closer, her fingertips drawing small circles over the skin of Widowmaker’s neck. Not yet, not yet. She needed to wait for the right moment until she could taste that sweet victory. Until she’d kiss those lifeless lips goodbye.

Get Overwatch back. To do so, everything would need to be in its right place. She’d bear with it. She knew the plan, though it disgusted her to no end. The scent of the assassin’s hair and the rhythm of her breath and the curve of her back, pressed against Lena, filled her with hate. Disdain. But she’d bear it.

And it worked. She’d seen Widowmaker cracking, trusting her. Too soon, too easy. Her neck wide open. Lena let out a shivering breath, trying to calm her frantic heart. She’d get justice, in the end. She’d get revenge. Her fingers twitched around Widowmaker’s neck.

Suddenly claws dug into the back of her hand and Widowmaker dragged Lena’s hand away, tilting her face back to look at her. Her eyes were narrow, suspicious, calculating.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her voice a little hoarse. Lena managed a smile.

‘Checking on you. You’re still so cold.’

‘Oh,’ Widowmaker replied, taken aback by that answer. ‘And?’

‘You’re alive,’ Lena grinned. Widowmaker huffed quietly, then rolled to her other side, facing Lena head on. For a moment, she could only see her amber eyes, narrowed in contemplation, staring into her own.

‘You confuse me,’ Widowmaker finally said. Lena subtly entangled their legs and wiped a stray hair away from Widowmaker’s face.

‘Why?’ Lena whispered. Widowmaker did not look away.

‘You’ve had ample opportunity to kill me,’ Widowmaker started, hesitatingly, ‘so why haven’t you?’

Lena smiled bitterly at that.

‘Because we’re stuck in this together,’ she replied,  idly caressing along the ridge of Widowmaker’s hip.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Widowmaker said, in a soft, warm voice. ‘You have nothing to lose.’

‘I do, actually,’ Lena said, chuckling nervously. Her hand drifted up to grasp lightly into Widowmakers hair. ‘I almost lost you because of my own stupidity.’ And that would be extremely detrimental to my revenge, she didn’t add. Widowmaker stared back at her, uncertain, suspicious. When she opened her mouth to reply, Lena pulled her into a kiss. Lena felt the woman tense against her, so she moved slowly, caressing tender circles on the back of her head. Lips pressing into one another gently until relaxation spread through Widowmaker’s body and she responded, sliding her arms around Lena’s neck.

Lena pretended to taste victory instead of poison on those lips. She moved closer, pressed harder. Give in to me, she repeated in her head, break down those barriers. Lift your face so I can sink my teeth into your neck. Submit to me.

They broke apart.

Widowmaker’s eyes glistened under her lashes, and she whispered against Lena’s lips.

‘I’m sorry for keeping secrets from you.’

 

Angela found herself in a small, square room, sitting on a hard metal chair. She flinched against the bright white light that came from a desk lamp, pointed straight at her face. The skin on her cheeks felt tight from dried up tears. Through the brightness of the sole lamp pointed at her, she could make out a desk and another chair. An interrogation room?

She vaguely remembered the past two days, several bottles of wine, one of which she might have thrown at Fareeha. There were painkillers, and sleeping pills, and - Angela groaned, harshly rubbing her palm over her forehead. Her head throbbed. If only they'd turn down that damned light.

Outside, she could hear voices. Two men talking, one of which she clearly recognized as Winston. The other voice was gruff, dark, and more muffled. She couldn't make out the words, but she heard Winston's voice raise, urgently.

'Be gentle with her,' she heard him say as the door behind her opened, and smoothly clicked into the lock as it closed. She sighed, slumping in her chair.

'Angela Ziegler?' the gruff voice behind her asked. Businesslike. She thought there was a vague familiarity in it, but she couldn't tell right away.

'What's left of her,' she said, scaring herself with how broken, how hoarse her voice was. She heard the man take a few heavy steps, but he did not move into her field of vision.

'I understand you were the doctor in charge of Genji Shimada,' the man continued.

'I was,' Angela answered breathlessly. His name rung painfully in her ears. Suddenly, she craved the sleeping pills again.

'What was your relationship with mister Shimada?' The man moved into view now, his face obscured by a mask, red visor over his eyes. Short, white hair stuck out above the mask. He was clad in leather from his jacket to his heavy boots, but Mercy could see the muscles rippling underneath. Military forces. A general, perhaps.

'Who are you?' she asked, lifting her face slightly. The man chuckled deep in his throat.

'I'll be the one asking questions here. What was your relationship with mister Shimada?'

'He was my patient,' Angela answered. She felt her mouth run dry. That voice, that posture, memories of a man began to resurface. But that couldn't be, it was absolutely impossible - Morrison was _dead_.

'What do you know of his condition before his last operation?' The man planted his hands on both sides of the table, looming over Angela.

'He was in perfect health, considering his situation.'

'How do you know that?' The man asked, suddenly quieter. Angela felt as if there were no eyes behind the red visor, but a scanner, that would detect her every lie.

'I have been in contact with him,' she said, averting her gaze. She heard the man exert a breathy laugh.

'What sort of contact?'

'Friendly.'

'So then what was your relationship with mister Shimada?'

'It was,' Angela sought for words, 'complicated.'

'You are _making_ this complicated.' The man said, uprighting himself. 'Just answer the question, miss Ziegler.'

'He was my patient, as well as best friend, and ex-lover,' Angela hit the table hard with her hand as she said it, a wave of desperation rolling over her. 'What does this have to do with anything?'

'I heard from your friend, miss Amari, that he was frequently at your home before his fatal.... accident.' The man said. Angela's mouth fell wide open.

'You think I killed him,' she gasped, her face pale, her eyes widening in disbelief.

'No, I think you tried to save him, when he came back,' the man replied, slowly leaning over the desk. 'However, I do think there has been a very severe breach of Overwatch regulations.' There was no doubt about it - this man before her was Morrison, perhaps mutilated, scarred, changed forever, but it was definitely him.

'What are you getting at?' Angela whispered, her voice choking in fear. 'I have not been a part of any Overwatch activity after the London base was shut down.'

'Tell me how Genji got injured.' The man stood straight again, and began to pace back and forth in front of the desk, pretending to think. 'Start at the part where he was at your home. Tell me what part of your complicated relationship you were practicing there.'

'He was at my home, because,' Angela hesitated. Just thinking of him, hearing his voice on the phone, the soft metal chime he'd make when walking around the house, hurt her more than she'd ever imagined. She felt cold, and so incredibly alone, realizing she would never have him near her again. She tried to start up her sentence again, but only ended up sobbing. The man sat down across from her, quietly, folding his hands. He patiently waited for her to recollect herself.

'I called him for help,' she finally managed to say. 'We were having a- a situation.'

'Who is we?'

'Me and Winston.'

'What sort of situation?'

'Tracer,' Angela mumbled before she'd really thought about it. She just wanted to crawl back in bed, possibly drown her sorrow with alcohol. 'Her chronal accelerator got broken. We couldn't fix it.'

'And then?'

'She got kidnapped,' Angela's face was filled with grief, 'by Talon. I feared-'

'I see.' The man interjected. 'So did Genji follow her to a Talon base alone to get her back?'

'Not immediately,' Angela shook her head. 'Tracer returned, once. Genji stood up for her, because I,' she swallowed, looking for the right words, 'I didn't trust her.'

'So it was not a rash reaction on his part?'

'No,' she sighed, nervously folding and unfolding her hands. Things had started to fall into place in her mind. 'It was not until Tracer disappeared a second time, that he went after her.'

'Did he do that of his own accord?'

'No.' Angela admitted. The man set down his hands on the table, eyes peering into hers.

'Then on whose orders?'

'Mine.' Angela pulled her knees up, placing her feet onto the chair. She buried her face between her knees, huddled up, like a child. The man abruptly stood up, pacing back and forth. He didn't speak, he just wrung his hands, and huffed agitatedly. Suddenly, he slammed his hands on the table in anger, making the blonde shy away even further.

'What were you thinking, Angela?' The man yelled, his breath labored, 'sending that boy into an enemy base? By himself?'

'It was not an order!' Angela cried back, sobbing loudly. She slowly uprighted herself, standing up from the chair and looking the man before her directly in the eyes. She ignored her tired, tear-stained face, and focused on her breathing.

'If you think,' she started, her voice low, almost a hiss, 'that I would have sent the man I loved away, if I'd known he would not survive, then you know nothing about me.' Her eyes blazed in fury, but her face was calm. 'I would do anything, _anything_ , to bring him back.'

'You violated Overwatch safety protocols.'

'I did what was right!' Angela slammed her hands down on the table. 'I was not about to let Talon take Lena away from me to make her into a second Widowmaker!' She stared hard at her hands as she realized at what cost that mission had been. 'Genji was innocent. He just tried to help.'

'He didn't deserve to die.' The man agreed. Angela's knees buckled underneath her and she rested her head on her arm on the table, tears silently rolling over her cheeks.

'I miss him,' she whispered. The man's gloved hand was suddenly rested on her shoulder, and gave her a friendly squeeze.

'I'm sorry for your loss,' the man said, more fatherly than friendly, 'go home and get some rest, Angela. I will inform you if anything else comes up. Thank you for being honest with me.'

Angela stood up slowly, feeling deflated, empty. Her hair fell in front of her face as she walked towards the door, staring at her feet. Her hand hovered above the door handle.

'Morrison?' she asked in a tiny voice. The man answered with a defeated sigh as she slid her fingers around the metal handle.

'Not anymore.'

 

‘What are these?’

‘Rations. It says so on the side, don’t open them – they’ll spoil.’ Widowmaker sat next to Lena, her legs crossed. They sat close to the heating unit, their one remaining backpack opened next to her. They carefully sorted what supplies Lena had managed to rescue from the wreckage. To Widowmaker’s dismay, it wasn’t much.

‘Alright, alright. Rations over here. Let’s just see what we’ve got, ’ Lena nodded, putting the rations in a stack. Widowmaker opened a heavy-looking black box.

‘Equipment. Hmm, hammers, wire cutters.. nothing we’ll need right away.’ She sealed the box and set it aside. ‘Did any of the extra fuel survive?’

Lena shook her head, opening a brown package. Inside was a compact purse, with some first-aid supplies. ‘Hey, med kit, nice,’ then gave Widowmaker a sideways glance, ‘no, it all caught on fire after the crash. That’s why we’ve only got left what fell out.’ She checked two more bags and threw them on the rations stack. Widowmaker made a disapproving sound with her tongue, but didn’t speak. She felt somehow emptier than before, more exhausted. It was probably the cold.

‘Why don’t you tell me what the rest of the briefing is,’ Lena said, leaning back to stretch her shoulders.

‘We’re not just here for some tech,’ Widowmaker replied, turning over another package in her hands, uncovering a water bottle from inside, ‘there is an old Overwatch base not too far from here. We’re to comb it through, get as much intel as we can.’ She set the package down and looked at Lena directly. ‘I figured you could get us in unnoticed.’

‘You want me to what?’ Lena’s mouth hung slightly open in surprise.

‘You’re going to get me inside, and tell me where the valuable information is,’ Widowmaker repeated, slowly articulating each word. Lena stared at her for a long moment, then spit out a short, pitying laugh.

‘No way.’

‘Fine,’ Widowmaker shrugged, ‘I can wait until you change your mind. If we’re careful with the rations, we can stay here for a week or two, two-and-a-half.’ She carefully put another ration on the stack, then pulled an overly dramatic, mocking concerned face. ‘Oh, but you don’t have that long, do you?’

Lena sputtered indignantly, astonishment slowly making place for fury. ‘You have no idea what you are threatening me with!’

‘Then don’t be difficult, and I’ll get you home safe,’ Widowmaker said decidedly. Lena gritted her teeth, angrily picking up one of the last packages of the pile.

‘You’re a monster.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Widowmaker smiled sweetly, running her long fingers down Lena’s cheek. ‘Don’t you worry, _chèrie._ You do as I say and everything will be just fine.’

‘You know, I was just starting to think you’re actually not so bad,’ Lena muttered, zipping open the black leather wallet she was holding, ‘and then you go ahead and do this.’

‘Oh, that is mine,’ Widowmaker suddenly said, pointing at the open wallet in Lena’s lap. Only now did Lena look down to see two vials, both filled with an eerie-looking gray-white, shimmery emulsion. A packet of needles and syringes was stacked neatly besides them. On the other side, two boxes of pills were held in place with elastics. Widowmaker held out her hand, urging Lena to give it to her. Lena narrowed her eyes, then slammed the wallet shut, clamping her fingers around it.

‘What is it?’

‘I told you, it is mine,’ Widowmaker sighed, gesturing again for Lena to hand it over.

‘What is it for?’ Lena clutched the wallet to her chest, still angry, still suspicious. Widowmaker sighed.

‘It is my medication. You think artificially lowered body temperature is a permanent state of being?’ She gestured again and this time Lena did not shy away. She did not let go of the wallet just yet, either.

‘And?’ Lena asked, holding back her surge of emotion. Widowmaker narrowed her eyes, then reluctantly sighed.

‘The fluid is an antidepressant of some sorts. I'm not sure how it works, but it flattens emotions.' She looked at Lena's slightly horrified face, but felt nothing in return, so she continued, 'I’ll use one vial if I get distracted. The second one is just for emergencies. You get two at once, it’s a complete wipe.’ Widowmaker gently took the wallet when she noticed Lena’s grip faltering, zipping it closed and setting it aside.

‘A complete wipe? So, then what happens?’

‘Retrograde amnesia,’ Widowmaker simply replied. When she noticed Lena’s blank stare, she added with a huff, ‘it makes you forget. Usually the last couple weeks. Very unpleasant.’

‘You do that often?’ Lena’s face was a mix of intrigue and disgust.

‘Not so much anymore. I used to,’ Widowmaker’s brows furrowed for a moment as she thought, ‘but I can’t remember why.’


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the slight delay! Have an action-packed chapter to soothe your wounds ;)  
> Also thank you again for your comments and kudos, they give me so much inspiration and happiness! Please do keep sharing your thoughts and theories, I love love LOVE to read them!

‘Departure was as planned. They arrived at the airport in a timely manner. We set them off on their way according to schedule, sir.’ A shivering young man stood before Reaper’s metal desk. His uniform was slightly big on him, as it was Talon custom for initiates to “grow” into it as they completed their military training. For now, he was burdened with mundane tasks; sweeping the bunks, preparing food, and delivering the occasional message. It wasn’t bad, per se, and at least he wasn’t used as meat shield on missions. However, today was not an ordinary day. The message he had to deliver was not an ordinary one, either. Honestly, he’d rather seen that his squad commander had delivered it – or hell, anyone other than him. But here he was, shaking in his boots, standing in front of Reaper’s desk. The man terrified him for more reasons than just the mask. He’d heard the stories, of the ghostly aura, and the insane havoc this man could wreak by himself. Reaper truly was a one-man army. And here he stood, lanky Talon initiate, about to deliver some very unpleasant news. By himself.

‘And then?’ Reaper growled.

‘We tracked their signal all the way to the Swedish Omnium, sir. We lost radio contact around 30 minutes before the planned landing.’

‘What do you mean, you lost contact?’

‘It’s not that we’re getting no response, sir.’ The Talon initiate swallowed nervously. ‘The connection has been cut off.’

‘Meaning?’ Reaper stood up, his hands folded behind his back. He was at least a head taller than the initiate.

‘That could have several possible explanations, sir,’ the initiate quickly stammered. ‘It could be a simple radio malfunction, but it could also mean the plane itself has been compromised. We suspect enemy activity because the plane was in perfect condition before departure, but if it was shot-‘

‘You’re telling me the plane was shot down without you noticing? Without either of them noticing?’ Reaper raised his voice aggressively and the Talon initiate took a step back on reflex. When he noticed his mistake, he started to rectify it, but stopped mid-movement when he saw Reaper staring at him. Instead, he straightened his back and nodded.

‘Yes, sir. That is one possibility. It could also be a mechanical failure of the plane, however that is unlikely.’

‘Has Widowmaker reported in any other way after you lost contact?’

‘She has not, sir.’

Reaper did not reply. He paced around behind his desk, his fingers clamping rhythmically around one another.

‘Keep the channels open. Search for any signal from them.’

‘Sir, yes, sir.’ The Talon initiate replied, nodding respectfully towards Reaper and turning on his heel.

Reaper sat down in his chair and watched the initiate practically run out of the office. They were fun to watch, those rookies, but they cost so much time. Valuable time. And now this. He brought up his data files on the screen. The plane had been in perfect condition. The Omnium had been abandoned for years, there was no way that there were still anti-aircraft measures active. Anything would have become rusted and inoperational, apart from the fact that there was no one there to operate it.

So that left one option; a deliberate plane crash. Surely Tracer wouldn’t be so stupid – she would know she wouldn’t survive that. Was there any possibility that the girl would have crashed the plane and lived? It seemed more than unlikely. Reaper sighed and sat back, interlacing his fingers as he thought. He needed to plan ahead. Figure out what happened. Prepare for the worst. A bitter frown ghosted over his features, and had he been with company, he'd have been thankful for the mask.

From the lowest desk drawer on the right, Reaper picked up a small black box, sighing deeply. A long, thin antennae cable fell from the side of the box down the desk onto the floor. He turned the radio on with a flick of the small black switch on the side. An orange LED-light, no bigger than a pinprick, indicated the device was working. It was foolish, useless, and probably in vain. But he had to try.

‘Widowmaker, come in,’ he spoke into the radio, ‘if you can hear me, respond right away.’ He hesitated for a moment, but then lifted the radio closer to his face. ‘Please, tell me you’re safe.’

 

In a deeper part of the facility, several stories down, Lena found the main generator of the factory. She opened a rusted, heavy metal door, Widowmaker trailing close behind, and stepped inside. The light from her chronal accelerator was enough to act as a make-shift flashlight in the darkness. She could make out a control panel on the other side of the room. In front of them were large turbines and engines, paint damaged and scraped off in places. Large drain pipes ran across the length of the room, over the ceiling and floors, in seemingly random directions.

‘Come on,’ Widowmaker said, taking the lead. ‘We must be able to switch some power on in there.’

Lena followed, quietly. She’d never had a problem with Omnics. Of course, the work she did for Overwatch was to control any Omnics that were out of order. But it was also to control those who wanted to disturb the peace. And yet, something felt wrong about this plan. She had a churning feeling in her gut, a cold dread that she could not quite place. Then again, she’d practically joined forces with an elite Talon agent, so nothing was as it should be.

Lena stepped over the many pipelines and shuffled forward in the dark until she could splay her hands on the control panel. It was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, which she wiped away with a disgusted grunt. Underneath was an old-fashioned, but complicated looking dashboard, rows of indicator lights and switches coming down from the top. On the side, an extra part seemed to have been added later on, as it was less discoloured, and a thin seam in the metal separated it from the rest. Thick black cables connected into the added segment.

'Do you see a power switch or anything?' Lena asked, idly pressing some buttons, to no avail.

'There's a switch here,' Widowmaker replied, gesturing to a large, red lever on the wall. Lena's lips curled into an enthusiastic grin.

'That should be it!' Lena blinked forward, ending up next to the assassin. 'May I?'

Widowmaker nodded, a hint of amusement on her face, and stepped back gracefully. Lena grabbed the lever with both hands and pulled it down with her whole bodyweight. The lever creaked horribly, whined against the friction of its abused joint, but then finally gave in. The silence only lasted for a second before lights began powering up on the dashboard, electronic sounds of machinery restarting filling the room. Widowmaker pressed her lips together.

'I didn't think that would work,' she said, wiping away some more dust from the dashboard. 'But I'm not complaining. This should raise the temperature inside the building, so we'll be more comfortable.'

'Nice,' Lena smiled, hands planted in her sides as she proudly gazed upon her handiwork. The dashboard was filled with life, lights flying over it, indicators flashing and beeping. 'So, now what?'

'There is supposed to be some sort of communication mechanism here,' Widowmaker answered, as she inspected the dashboard closely. 'Reaper wanted it because it's supposed to give us a means of communication over a long distance on a secure channel.'

The silence stretched between them. The implications of that statement were not lost on Lena.

'You're saying we need that tech if we want to get home, right?' Lena took a shivering breath. Widowmaker straightened her back and looked at the brunette. Lena expected a jab, something about the plane, about it being all her fault, but nothing came. Instead, Widowmaker's eyes had narrowed, and her shoulders were tense. She looked at a point on the ceiling, and hushed Lena when she opened her mouth to speak. Widowmaker listened. Intently. After a moment, she turned to Lena.

'Do you hear that?'

'Hear what, luv?'

'Machinery. I think we've turned the factory back on.'

 

'I see,' Morrison, his voice gruff and distorted through his mask, nodded. He had his fingers raised to his face in thought, and contemplated Winston's words. 'A risky operation. Very high stakes. The cost is skyrocketing already.'

'Genji was never supposed to get involved,' Winston sighed, 'you can't imagine the remorse I feel for not telling this sooner. I might have prevented all of this tragedy.'

'Sometimes, tragedy cannot be prevented. Sometimes people seek out their own tragedy.' Morrison said, standing up to pace around, his hands folded behind his back. 'The boy's death is unfortunate, however he already lived on borrowed time.'

Winston swallowed thickly. Somehow that thought didn't console him at all. Angela, on his right hand side, made a choked sound. Fareeha tried to put a hand on her knee, which she slapped away.

'I wanted to help Lena,' Winston ground out, 'help her get revenge for all the injustice done to her. She didn't deserve the things she went through, none of it. She's such a good kid.'

'I'm sure.' Morrison replied. He walked through the dimly lit meeting room, rhythmically pacing as he thought. Suddenly, Angela broke the silence.

'I want revenge too,' she said. Her voice was flat, and she looked straight ahead, as if she was deep in thought. There was a spark in her eyes that Winston had never seen there before.

'We all want revenge, Ziegler, but it's not that easy!' Morrison growled back at her, but Winston interjected.

'We need to have a plan. We can't waste Genji's death on petty revenge.'

'When do you expect Tracer to be back?' Morrison asked, his chair scraping over the floor as he dragged it closer and sat down. He folded his hands in front of his face, eyes peering intently through the red visor.

'Soon. She hasn't contacted in a while, but that is to be expected. She needs to keep up appearances.'

'And you expect she'll bring Talon down from inside?' Fareeha asked, a little incredulous.

'She doesn't need to. We need to appeal to the general public if we want Overwatch back.' Winston explained, gesturing with his large hands. 'Overwatch was disbanded because of public distrust. We need to give the people someone else to hate; a villain so evil they can't help but want dead. And then there is the hero, that will become the new face of Overwatch.'

'Tracer,' Morrison nodded in understanding. 'Not a bad idea. Widowmaker is the perfect scapegoat.'

'If Tracer goes through hell and brings back a good story and Widowmaker, we can use her trial as a way to promote Overwatch back into existence. Governments from all over the world will want to finance us if we're successful in bringing down their worst enemies.' Winston said, hesitantly looking at his former colleagues. Morrison nodded slowly, thinking the whole plan through in his head. Fareeha looked a little shocked, but seemed enthusiastic. Angela still stared at a point on the wall and hadn't moved a muscle.

'What sort of punishment does a criminal like Widowmaker face?' Fareeha suddenly asked. 'Her kill count is unprecedented, but she was brainwashed, right?'

A silence fell over the group. Winston fought back memories of the woman he'd known, the woman he'd always hoped he could help cure one day. Now, she was nothing more than bait.

'Public execution,' Angela stated. Fareeha looked disgusted, and opened her mouth to retort, but was silenced with a single, hateful look from Angela. The doctor breathed out through her nose before she continued speaking, her voice colder than anyone in the room had ever heard it.

'The public doesn't know her. They see a monster. What they see is all that matters.'

'Angela!' Fareeha exclaimed, shocked. 'You can't be serious!'

'Oh I am serious,' Angela replied. 'I'll do it myself. Does "Mercy" fit into your story as the executioner, Winston?'

Winston didn't reply, but simply looked at her with sorrowful eyes. There were many things he'd wanted to say, like an endless amount of apologies even though none of them would bring Genji back. Things that would soothe her pain, her aching soul. The reassurance that with time, she'd find herself again. But there was nothing he could say as he looked into Angela's icy blue eyes and saw nothing but hatred.

'Overwatch was founded to help and protect people. I don't think public execution fits into that ideology,' he finally said.

'We'd be helping a lot of people by ridding the world of that assassin and her cohorts.' Morrison agreed with Angela. 'If you don't like it, Winston, think of it this way: we could revive Overwatch. Don't you want to give your friend Tracer her life back?'

'It's simple, Winston.' Angela's lips curled into a terrifying smile as she continued, 'Widowmaker, like Genji, lives on borrowed time. I'd say that debt is long overdue.'

Fareeha looked troubled, eyes flicking from one face to another, but she kept quiet.

'I am a scientist, not a murderer,' Winston sighed in defeat, 'but I'll always choose Lena over Amélie Lacroix.'

 

Widowmaker treaded back up the stairs through the hallways towards the main hall of the warehouse, as quietly as she could. She sensed Lena close behind her, and gestured for her to stop. She listened. The metallic creaking and whining of old iron joints became louder as they approached the workshop. She'd been right. The factory had restarted itself the moment the power had been restored. She rounded the corner, nodding at Lena to make sure she kept her distance. If they walked into a trap, at least one of them would be able to have time to react. She wished she hadn't left her rifle with their other supplies.

She heard the click and whirr of Tracer's light guns, springing into action. Lena held them casually, but her face was stern. 'I'll cover you,' she mouthed, and Widowmaker nodded.

She opened the door to the workshop and immediately rolled for cover. She held her breath. The rhythmic sounds of the factory were almost like a melody, undisturbed, unaware of her presence. She peered over the edge of the crate she'd hid behind, and her breath hitched.

The factory had not just restarted. The conveyor belts were running smoothly, churning out components to a machine she didn't recognize. The machinery around the conveyor belt added and welded parts to the components like the factory had never been shut down. At the end of each conveyor belt, a portable Omnic unit stood, a red laser scanner beaming from its face, checking the components. That wasn't good.

Further into the workshop, she saw more portable units moving about, transporting, managing, calculating. From the looks of it, there were a lot. She saw at least thirty from her narrow point of view.

Tracer appeared in the doorway. Widowmaker watched her crouch, then roll to cover behind another crate, not more than ten steps away. Tracer lifted her chin, as if to ask 'how bad is it'?

Widowmaker shook her head. It's not good, Tracer. She pointed at the door, then at herself, then back at the door. We better go back. Shut the place down again.

She leaned over the crate once more to check. Although the units seemed harmless enough, she didn't want to assume the Omnium hadn't armed itself against intruders. They'd basically given them back their life energy.

Widowmaker looked back at Tracer to gesture again at the door, but found herself looking at the barrels of Tracer's guns. Widowmaker quietly gasped, and tried to back off. Tracer's expression changed from concentrated to shocked, and the assassin registered somewhere in the back of her mind that Tracer mouthed 'not you!' before she felt a bump against her foot. Widowmaker twisted around, looking right up into the scanner of a portable platform.

The machine whirred for a fraction of a second. Then the lights in the workshop turned red, the doors slammed shut and locked, and a high pitched alarm went off.

'Intruder identified,' a robotic voice echoed over the speakers.

'RUN!' Tracer called, and Widowmaker didn't hesitate for a second. The burning laser from the Omnic unit barely missed her as she rolled away and kicked the unit over. Tracer immobilized it with a few quick shots, then went on the offensive, blinking through the factory. The mobile units had abandoned their posts at the conveyor belts and chased after her, forming clever patterns to close around her. However, Tracer wasn't so easily caught. Widowmaker gritted her teeth. Her rifle was on the other side of the workshop, over by the crates. While Tracer was doing a good job at distracting them, she couldn't take them all out by herself. Widowmaker took a deep breath, took in her surroundings, and set off. If she could just reach her rifle-

She jumped over the first conveyor belt, taking out an Omnic with a well-placed kick of her heavy boot. She rolled behind the remains, shielding herself as another aimed its laser at her. She swerved around, breaking the laser lens with her elbow before running on. Almost halfway. In the corner of her eye she saw Tracer take to the sky in a flash of blue, bullets raining down on the horde of Omnics behind her. Lasers swerved at and around her, and Tracer dodged them like a hummingbird in a thunderstorm.

Widowmaker jumped onto the last conveyor belt, letting herself be dragged forward and using the velocity to jump on the last machine in her way. A sickening crack indicated something in its hardware had broken as her feet landed on top of it. She rushed through, grabbing her rifle with one hand and instantly grappling herself up to the ceiling. As she ascended, she took aim: one, two, three - taking out the ones most dangerous to Tracer first. For a moment, she felt her blood rush in her ears - oh, how she'd _missed_ doing this. Her grapple had reeled in almost entirely so she let go, landing on top of the tall stack of crates, long ponytail whipping behind her. She took out three more robots, then agitatedly reloaded.

Tracer yelped, blinking to the left, and dropped one smoldering gun. A deep red gash ran over the length of the weapon, the laser that had hit it almost completely burned through. Widowmaker brought the rifle back up and shot again, one, two, methodically taking the robots out. The machinery faltered momentarily, recalculating its strategy against two different opponents. Tracer made use of the distraction by taking out two more Omnics.

'We have to get out of here!' Tracer´s voice was shrill over the sounds of battle. Widowmaker was reluctant to agree. They'd taken out quite a few, perhaps there was still a chance of victory.

That thought was immediately shattered as a side door to the workshop opened and a stream of battle units rolled out in perfect synchronization. They carried heavy guns, and took formation almost instantly.

Widowmaker jumped off the crates, landing close to Tracer. They only exchanged one look before they beelined towards the exit.

'The warehouse is in lockdown!' Widowmaker yelled with labored breath. Tracer only screamed back, 'I've got a plan!'

It better be good, Widowmaker caught herself thinking as she took out two more Omnics. They almost reached the entrance, a heavy metal sliding door that had been clamped shut by the lockdown.

'Stay at a distance!' Tracer commanded, and she reached behind her to grab a pulse bomb, and with a fluid motion attached it to the entrance door. Widowmaker didn't acknowledge the command vocally but simply obliged, running to the side, elbowing another Omnic in the scanner. The sound of glass breaking was so satisfying she didn't feel the shards piercing her skin. Tracer ran forward, taking more Omnics with her, trying to trick them into shooting one another. Widowmaker emptied her rounds.

An Omnic had traveled around, sneaked by the wall and now came up towards Tracer from behind. Widowmaker noticed it coming towards her, time moving in slow motion. She felt her breath surge in her lungs, Tracer oblivious to the danger behind her. She stepped forward, ran, but it felt like she was stuck to the ground, everything moving so slowly. She raised the butt of the rifle and finally slammed the Omnic away, just barely preventing it from shooting Tracer in the back. A light in her peripheral vision made her turn her face away from the battlefield. Next to her shoulder, on the door, the pulse bomb glowed.

The timer flicked to zero in front of her eyes. From nothing, the bomb was suddenly encased in a wave of bright white light and heat.

In that moment, Widowmaker strangely only had one thought.

_I hope Tracer is safe._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of smut ahoy. It's not super explicit, but ye be warned anyway. :)

The explosion took out a chunk of the wall, spewing smoke, rocks and debris like a volcano. Ash and dust flittered through the air, painting an ugly grey taint on the white surface. Time warped as if it had a will of its own, and Lena spurted forward, going back in time, her brain not completely keeping up with how her surroundings changed around her. She reached out, saw the bomb, saw the woman in front of it, taking down the one Omnic she hadn´t noticed. Everything stood still. A flash of light shone in her eyes, white hot as the explosion wrapped around them. She felt her fingers connect around tense shoulders, felt a warm breath in her neck. Close, closer. She felt the chill of fear sliding down her spine. Lena shut her eyes, braced her core for the impact of the shockwave. Flames that reached to kiss her skin were suddenly pushed back. Lena felt herself flying through the air in a vacuum bubble.

Amidst the smoke, a translucent blue, spherical shield flickered. The dust nestled into the snow quietly, clearing the air around them. The chronal accelerator hummed, then slowed down as the shielding deactivated.

Lena carefully opened her eyes, blinking a few times to get the swirling light spots out of her vision. She felt her chest ache and suddenly remembered to breathe, gasping and coughing for air now that she finally could. Then she sat up slightly, and ran her fingers cautiously over her face.

Her right side had been licked by the flames, her trousers and jacket singed, her hair smoldering. Her ear and the side of her face felt warm and cold at the same time, with a pulsating pain that was hard to ignore. Then she touched her accelerator, so familiar and yet so alien to her. She wondered how the shield worked, and with a couple deep breaths and failed attempts, she managed to recall it. It was a spherical electric shield, similar to what she'd seen Reinhardt carry. Even though this was incredibly helpful, in the pit of her stomach she feared what else Talon might have built into the machine that kept her anchored in time.

Underneath her, half in her arms, Widowmaker lay still. Lena couldn´t see any immediate critical injuries, but noticed her ponytail had lost more than half of its length, the hair singed off in an uneven, choppy cut. Lena grasped a battered, bruised shoulder and gently shook the woman underneath her.

Widowmaker's eyes fluttered open as if she awoke from a comfortable nap, but then confusion ghosted over her face as she cast her gaze up towards Lena. She turned her head slightly, as if to make sure she was still in the same place, then looked back at the brunette's face, hovering above her own. Lena laughed through heaving breaths and rested her forehead on Widowmaker´s shoulder.

'You stupid git,' Lena whispered against Widowmaker's collarbone, 'what did I say about keeping distance?'

'What happened?' Widowmaker asked, flexing and unflexing her fingers in front of her face, curiously examining them as if she didn't believe they still functioned properly.

'You didn't keep enough distance,' Lena smirked without lifting her face, making her voice sound muffled against the fabric of Widowmaker's suit, 'and then neither did I.'

'How,' Widowmaker started, but then she hesitated and trailed off. Instead she simply stated, 'you saved me.'

'Wouldn't be the first time,' Lena smirked, leaning on one elbow. She wiped some stray strands of hair from Widowmaker's face. 'We survived. Again. Somehow.' She grinned, adding each other word after a short thinking pause.

'You didn't have to,' Widowmaker admitted, and shifted her gaze away from Lena's. 'You could have just taken advantage of the distraction and gotten away.' She looked back up at Lena, but not calculating, like Lena expected. She seemed open, genuinely caring, honestly confused. There was an innocence to her that Lena wanted to describe as childlike. As naive.

'I didn't,' Lena smiled, and pulled Widowmaker up as she sat back, so they could look at one another directly. 'And you would have done the exact same for me, wouldn't you?' She'd never seen the assassin in this much mental distress. Lena watched her shake her head, bite her lip, cast her gaze back to Lena with a forlorn, questioning expression.

'The answer should be "no, I wouldn't", but I,' Widowmaker sought for words. Lena quietly ran a reassuring hand over her upper thigh, and nodded encouragingly. 'I want to be honest with you,' Widowmaker finally confessed.

'Then be honest with me,' Lena replied. Widowmaker raised both her hands and caressed Lena's cheeks, then slid her arms around her neck and rested her forehead in the crook of Lena's neck. Whether she did it from exhaustion, embarrassment or just to have something to do with her hands, Lena couldn't tell.

'I was told to do these things. I was told to help you out, to listen, to get close to you.' Widowmaker's hands threaded through singed hazel hair nervously. 'But now, I think I'd do them even if I had not been told to. So... I would have done the same for you, but I don't know why.'

'I know why,' Lena whispered. A smile graced her features, but she knew her eyes were stone cold. 'Maybe you just need some more time to figure it out.'

'I shouldn't be figuring this out,' Widowmaker groaned, 'I should be completing the mission.'

'Hey,' Lena untangled herself so she could lift Widowmaker's chin, 'those two things are entirely compatible.'

'Then tell me,' Widowmaker eyes narrowed slightly, 'for I must understand. Why do you choose to save me?'

You'll never understand, Lena didn't answer. She looked into Widowmaker's golden eyes and felt sadness. She watched this husk of a woman hold on to her threadbare sanity, and she was to weave a web of deceit into it. Lena almost pitied her. She must have been beautiful, and caring, once. She must have loved, long ago.

'Because I want to be close to you, too,' Lena finally sighed, and looked away. Even after everything they'd been through, she couldn't look her in the eye and tell her bold-faced lies. Perhaps, because of everything they'd been through- Lena, no. Those are dangerous thoughts.

'Are you being honest with me?' Widowmaker asked, interlacing their fingers. She slanted her head to try and regain Lena's attention. When Lena looked up, she'd perfected her mask. Perfected her fake smile.

'Yes.' No. 'Just follow my lead. We'll figure it out together.'

 

Fareeha tapped her knuckles lightly against the door to make her presence known. When after a few seconds no answer came, she spoke up, careful not to make her voice too loud.

'May I come in?'

No answer. Only a muffled sob from the other side of the door. Fareeha sighed. Her knee prosthetic was a little skewed, but she was afraid the noise of setting it straight would be too loud and blow her chances.

'Ange, I'm coming in, okay?'

'If you have to,' a small voice came from inside. Fareeha rolled her eyes but kept quiet as she stepped inside the medical station. Everything was still as she'd last left it, that being medical and electrical equipment all around, the power generator uselessly turned off next to the operating table. The operating table was thankfully empty.

'Hanzo picked him up today,' Angela sobbed. Fareeha was shaken from her thoughts and realized she'd been staring. She clenched her eyes shut for a long moment and forced herself to focus. She brought a wry smile to her face.

'Good. He's with family now,' she managed to say, though her mouth was dryer than a desert. 'Why are you still in here, Angela? It's not healthy.' It was harsher than she'd intended to be, but Fareeha felt like she had no choice. Her friend had been crying non-stop for days. She wanted to help her, she really did, and the first step would have to be to get her out of here, out of this Overwatch base that would surely drive her mad. She needed to grieve properly, not lock herself in the very operating theatre where she'd lost him.

'I'm the doctor, I know what's healthy,' Angela angrily cried, picking up a bottle cap from the floor next to her leg and throwing it in Fareeha's general direction.

'Have you been drinking, Angela?' Fareeha sighed. She walked around the operating table towards the corner where Angela had settled. The blonde leaned her head against the cabinet, back against the wall, limp legs sprawled out in front of her. She threw another bottle cap at Fareeha, and watched it bounce off of her metal prosthetic leg. As her eyes slid over the metal joints of Fareeha's legs her eyes filled once again with tears and she buried her face in her hands. With some difficulty, Fareeha sat down next to her. She put an arm around her and pulled her close, allowing the doctor to cry on her shoulder. Angela only sobbed louder.

'Did Hanzo say anything?' Fareeha finally asked. She needed to distract her. Break this cycle of sadness. She felt Angela shake her head.

'Nothing at all?' Fareeha pressed. She would not be so easily defeated.

'He said,' Angela sniffed, 'that he did not blame me.'

'No one blames you, Angela,' Fareeha reassured her, but that only renewed the doctor's sobbing.

'You should! You should blame me!' She cried out, hiding her face once again with her hands. She wiped at her eye and left a large black smear over her cheek. 'If I'd been more competent, I could have saved him!'

'No one could have saved him, it was just bad luck,' Fareeha disagreed, but it seemed to have the opposite effect of what she wanted to achieve. She sighed and rested her head against the wall. For a couple minutes, she simply listened to Angela's broken sobs against her shoulder.

'Hey,' she finally whispered, 'come here.' She pulled the blonde between her legs and wrapped her arms all the way around, holding her in a tight, warm embrace. Angela's back pressed against her chest and she stroked her upper arms firmly, generating some heat in that fragile body. Angela rested against her, comforted by the warmth and safety Fareeha provided.

'Tell you what,' Fareeha said, resting her chin on Angela's shoulder, 'we're going to sit here for a little bit and you're going to let all these emotions out.' Angela clumsily nodded in agreement.

'But then afterwards, I'm going to take you home, make you eat some food, and you're going to get some rest. Okay?'

'Okay,' Angela whispered, 'thank you, Fareeha.'

 

'Orders, sir?'

'I need several units. Good ones. Make 16 the lead. Check which ones are available. I'll need at least 5.' Reaper paced rapidly back and forth, several Talon officers in front of him, standing with their backs straight and their faces neutral.

'Yes, sir.'

'Have the planes ready by nightfall tomorrow. This is an extraction mission of the highest priority, but I want proper firepower to be sure. You'll get the brief as soon as it's ready.'

'Yes, sir,' another officer replied. Reaper nodded contently, and waved with his arm.

'Dismissed,' he grunted, turning back to his desk. He leaned over it, wiping scattered papers aside. Rash, he scolded himself, rash and impulsive. A mocking cough made him aware there was still someone left in the office.

'What do you want?' he snarled at the remaining officer. The man was unfazed by his aggressive behavior, and cleared his throat before speaking.

'Sir, I am the main engineer at the research facility,' the man started. Reaper's eyes narrowed behind his mask.

'I am aware,' he answered slowly. He leaned back against his desk and folded his hands. He waited for the other man to speak again, which made for a couple tense seconds.

 'I was summoned here posthaste, sir.' The man stared straight at a point on the wall, but showed no signs of feeling intimidated. 'I assume it was about the chronal accelerating device currently in possession of miss Lena Oxton.

'Right,' Reaper rubbed his temples. Right. There was that. 'There is a tracking bug inside, yes?'

'There is. The signal is still connected and giving off precise GPS data with an accuracy of 5 metres.'

'Tell me,' Reaper leaned forward, chewing the inside of his cheek, 'when the timed shutdown initiates, will the tracking bug still work?'

The engineer thought about that for a moment. 'I'm afraid not, sir. The shutdown works on the internal power core, that also powers the tracking device. Besides that there is also the risk that the accelerator, when still attached to subject Oxton, may also proceed into chronal dissociation.'

'I need that bug to work!' Reaper slammed his fist onto his desk. The shiver that ran through the engineer was more than satisfying, but still he silently scolded himself. Rash. Reckless.

'I can temporarily disable the timed shutdown, sir. It is a satellite-driven program that works with an atomic clock. It should be possible from the engineering facility downstairs.'

'Perfect,' Reaper let out a sigh of relief. 'Make it happen. As soon as you're done, I need a detailed report and a full list of functions of that thrice-damned thing.'

'Sir, yes, sir.'

 

Widowmaker had lost track of the hours by the time they finally arrived at the snow white Overwatch base. She'd seen the sun fall and rise, and they'd talked occasionally, but as they waded longer through the knee-deep snow, they'd fallen silent. Now they simply ploughed through the sludge in comfortable silence.

'Oh, god, I can see it,' Tracer groaned, 'we almost made it.'

' _Finalement,_ ' Widowmaker agreed, and both sped up to reach the door quicker, but their undercooled limbs refused to cooperate. In the end, Tracer blinked forward and slammed the electronic lock next to the entrance.

'Tracer!' She yelled into the machine, 'Lena Oxton! Open up you stupid-' she fell silent when the indicator turned green and the door smoothly slid open. Dumbstruck, she looked at the open door.

'It opened,' Lena muttered, mouth slightly opened in surprise. Widowmaker joined at her side, slowed down by the snow slurry on her metal boots.

'It did,' she replied, equally as surprised. For a moment, the two women stood next to each other, in front of the opened door, and waited. One, cautious, the other, expectant.

Lena burst out laughing. She grabbed Widowmaker's hand and pulled her inside, slamming the electronic lock on the inside to close the door behind her.

 

Widowmaker followed, the ring of Tracer's laughter in her ears. She was glad to shed the cold, and let herself be led inside, the warmth of the facility instantly enveloping her. She watched Tracer's lips curl as she laughed, felt like laughing herself, though she couldn't quite place why.

'Oh, we _made it!_ ' Tracer exclaimed, arms wide as if she wanted to hug the entire building. She turned around and sat down against the radiator next to the door, warming her back against it. 'Oh, that is much better,' she murmured. Then she looked up and patted the spot next to her. Widowmaker took it as an invitation, and gingerly sat down. The radiator was scalding against her back, but was more comfortable than the freezing cold. She reached to her calves and unhooked her boots, setting them aside to let her legs warm up more easily. Thousands of tiny pinpricks indicated feeling returning to her near-frozen limbs.

She turned her head to look at her companion. The brunette sat with her eyes closed, resting comfortably with her back against the radiator, arms slack down her sides. Her face was pale, lips tinted slightly blue. Had they been out in the snow for much longer, the girl would not have made it. It was only now that Widowmaker noticed the red marks on the side of her face, near her ear and on the corner of her jaw.

Without thinking, she raised her hand and trailed her fingertips over the burned skin. Tracer jolted and yelped in pain.

'Hey! Careful, now,' she cried. Widowmaker pulled her hand away as if stung. She narrowed her eyes at the girl.

'You're hurt,' she stated. Tracer just gave her a blank stare and shrugged. Widowmaker agilely turned over to sit on her knees in front of Tracer.

'Will you let me help you?' Widowmaker asked, urgency in her voice. She wanted to help, wanted to take care of her. The thought terrified and excited her at the same time. She wanted this. It was hers, and hers alone, this desire. She cherished it and relished in it. To strengthen her point, she reached towards the pouch on her thigh. She took out two sleek, black wallets. One contained her medication, the other was the med-kit from the backpack. She opened the med-kit, showing the contents to Tracer.  

'When did you take that?' Tracer asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

'Earlier,' Widowmaker answered, 'before we turned on the generator. Never leave your most essential belongings alone.'

'Ah,' Tracer could only reply, a soft, breathy sound that indicated that she should feel suspicious, but was too tired to think about it. Widowmaker had heard it before. She could read her now, and better with each passing day. It was a strange experience to see Tracer's face contort and to know what she felt - that combinations and nuances of emotion still existed. She'd seen Tracer display complete opposite emotions at the same time, because all of that was possible. She'd forgotten, emotions were useless distractions, after all, but she was intrigued by it. Intrigued by the girl and her energy and all her states of mind.

'Well?' Widowmaker insisted.

'Alright,'  Tracer laughed an open mouthed, throaty laugh. Interesting. Widowmaker wanted to hear it again, but Tracer had gone quiet, eyes nervously scanning over Widowmaker's face, her hands, the med kit. Widowmaker took out a round, silver container from the kit. She twisted the cap to open it, and revealed the contents; thin tissue paper infused with healing cream. She picked one out, careful not to wipe any of the cream on her own fingers, and started dabbing carefully at Tracer's damaged skin. She heard the girl sigh under her touch.

'I didn't think that would help as much as it does,' Tracer said softly. Widowmaker just nodded. The cream would numb the pain and accelerate the healing process. She didn't feel any exhilaration at actually getting to live out her first real desire in years, but she imagined she did. She imagined the thrum of her heartbeat and the quickening of her breath, the tingle of her fingers and toes and the lightheadedness that came with excitement. The kind she only now felt in the heat of battle, at the moment she knew she'd hit the mark.

'What are you thinking about, luv,' Tracer smirked, 'you've got that whole thousand-yard-stare going on.'

' _Désolée._ I was lost in thought,' Widowmaker answered, carefully patting the cloth a few more times before admiring her handiwork. The skin was already calming down, the marks less red, less angry.

'I could see that,' Tracer replied, a lighthearted tone to her voice. 'You didn't answer the question.'

'Desire,' Widowmaker answered simply. She didn't feel like explaining. It would alienate the girl. Tracer's eyes lit up with a mischievous glint.

'What a coincidence,' she whispered, blunt fingernails dragging down Widowmaker's collar, 'so was I.'

Being with Tracer had brought many curious experiences. The revival of her most feral, most primitive emotions had been the first. The next had been the comfort in interaction that she didn't remember having had before with anyone. The most curious by far however, was the closeness, both physical and mental - and the fact that she didn't _mind._

So when Tracer's fingers closed around her collar to pull her closer and their lips met in a sloppy, wet kiss, she didn't mind. There was no voice in the back of her mind telling her just to complete the mission, to get it over with, extract the information and get out, leave no witnesses. It was deliciously silent and open to fill with thoughts of her own. There were few of those thoughts of her own for now, but one of them was that she didn't mind. She enjoyed not feeling disgusted. She enjoyed not hearing the hushed whispers in the back of her mind, and instead only the hot, feminine whispers against the shell of her ear. The warmth and pressure as she was pushed down and the brunette leaned her weight on top of her just as comfortable as the welcoming safety of the base after a long mission.

Widowmaker closed her eyes and reveled in the silence in her mind. She lifted her chin to give Tracer access to her neck, and the girl placed feather light kisses down from her earlobe. She followed the movement pattern in her mind, drawing an imaginary oblique line towards her collarbone. Suddenly, Tracer sank her teeth into the smooth skin, not hard enough to break, but hard enough to hurt.

And there it was. Light, trembling under her skin, Widowmaker could feel her heart rate increasing. The beating in her chest speeding up as well as the pulse tangible under Tracer's lips. She knew that the girl had felt it.

'Do that again,' Widowmaker breathed. Tracer quietly obliged. She moved towards the dip where neck meets shoulder and sank her teeth in there, sucking on the flesh between her lips.

Widowmaker inadvertently sucked in a gasping breath. She could only feel her heartbeat rushing the blood through her veins, making her fingertips throb and her lips feel plush. Tracer's fingernails dragging up over her arm to grab firm hold of her wrist were simultaneously a promise and a threat.

'You're warmer all of a sudden,' Tracer breathed against her ear. Her breath was hotter still. Her other hand snaking down left a burning, scorching trail over Widowmaker's abdomen. 'You enjoying yourself?' Tracer teasingly asked.

There were no words that could answer her except for the increasingly feverish kisses, for trembling clawing hands on her shoulders, on her hips, in her hair. Widowmaker pulled the girl towards herself, impossibly close and yet not close enough. Tracer's kneading hands on her thighs that bruised her in all the right ways.

She noticed that Tracer reacted to her, concentrated like a lioness focused on her prey. That she'd smirk whenever Widowmaker made a sound, that she'd breathe with her when she gasped. That her pupils dilated when she noticed a tremble run through the woman underneath her. Widowmaker wanted to see, wanted to make her respond to her. It was a form of control and it was a form of submission, a dance in which they pushed and pulled to get a maximum reaction.

Somewhere in the process, her bodysuit had been pushed off her shoulders and pooled around her ankles, more effective as a trap than most restraints would have been. She could escape restraints - what kept her here now was mental. The overwhelming feeling of warmth and safety and the desire to know what would come next. Her breath had deepened, quickened. She felt her ribcage expand and retract with each inhale and exhale, her chest rising up to caress against Tracer's. She could feel the sweat on Tracer's brow and sides rubbing off on her, and she wanted to remember the scent, remember the feeling of sharing something so intimate.

'Tracer,' she breathed as finally fingers rocked inside her, curling up, effortlessly puppeteering her legs to curl around the Brit's waist. A breathy laugh against her neck.

'Please, call me Lena,' Tracer panted, a smile on her face. Widowmaker repeated the name in her head until it lost all meaning, until it was just a sound, equally as familiar as the thrum of her heart. She wondered what reaction she'd elicit if she'd moan the name in ecstasy. Wondered if Tracer would react in one of her unfathomable ways, if she'd simultaneously show multiple emotions in the way only she could. Hazel eyes sparking with lust and energy. Widowmaker wanted to, she realized, she really, really wanted to.

She wanted to look at her. She wanted to care for her. She wanted to endlessly study her even if it meant just staring at her face for the rest of eternity.

The girl's name rolled off of Widowmaker's lips as her back arched and her hands clawed into short, brown hair. Pleasure spread through her chest as Widowmaker watched Tracer -no, _Lena_ \- bite her lip and raise her brows, a shivering breath escaping her, as well as a muttered, 'God, that is hot.'

She enjoyed the pressure as the girl collapsed on top of her, a lazy warmth spreading through her, unsure if it was from the radiator nearby, from the Brit on top or if she radiated it herself. Her hand threading through chocolate tresses as if it was a habit she'd had for years. To do so felt so familiar. So real.

An image of a bedroom shot through her mind, high, opened doors that led to a balcony, soft white curtains billowing inside on the light breeze. A last ray of sunlight that illuminated the twilight reflected off the glass panels onto luxurious red wooden floorboards. The same warmth, the same safety. And the words she'd uttered then, now forming on her lips once more.

' _Je t'aime_.'


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay, my lovelies! I hope the length of this chapter makes up for the long wait. The next chapter will take a little longer too but afterwards updates should pick up at normal pace again. Enjoy!

It was silent in the Overwatch base. Winston sat by his desk, some of his computers powered back up. Somehow Morrison had pulled some strings to get things working again, not much, but enough to give them back a shadow of their former glory. Winston could work, for one. He had worked, non-stop, ever since he'd been given the opportunity to boot his computer back up. Now his eyelids began to droop under his glasses, head nodding, falling forward, only to jerk back up. Winston couldn't sleep, not yet. Not until he'd managed to contact everyone he needed to rebuild Lena's chronal accelerator. It was the least he could do, Winston thought to himself for the thousandth time, to at least set straight what had caused this entire mess. Then, they could sweep up the shattered glass and try to mend what was still fixable. At least Morrison was back. He didn't know how to feel about it - relieved, yes, but also betrayed. The man had disappeared without a trace, left them thinking he was dead, he'd grieved for him and now he just waltzed back in.

He was glad Fareeha had finally managed to get Angela out of here. Everything about this place was a constant reminder for the woman and he'd seen her breaking down. He'd seen her look at Morrison with this forlorn, longing gaze as if the man could grant Genji the same kind of magical re-appearance. Winston slowly shook his head. Genji'd been given his second chance. Third chances were... rare. Statistically.

Across the room, Morrison sat on a desk chair. His arms crossed, he tapped his foot impatiently. In front of him, a stack of papers sat, that he hadn't touched. He seemed restless, all the time. He'd returned to the Overwatch base but he didn't actually want to _be_ here. Winston noticed in the way he nervously rolled his shoulders, in the way he stiffly strode through the corridors. No longer tall and proud, but broken, sliding in the shadows, an echo of a man. An echo of a hero, now only the faint resound where the word is lost but the wail remains.

A static noise shook him from his thoughts. He looked over to the dashboard, tapping a few keys to get it out of sleep mode. Athena made a welcoming beep.

'Incoming call,' her mechanic voice sounded.

'Who is it?' Winston narrowed his eyes. A regular communication channel? It couldn't be. Morrison turned in his chair, lifting his chin as to ask what was going on.

'The Swedish Overwatch facility, main channel. All regular security measures have been taken.' Athena smoothly answered. Winston shook his head in confusion.

'Sweden? Who is currently stationed in Sweden?' Before Athena could answer, Morrison did.

'No one is,' he grunted, standing up from his chair to walk over to Winston's desk. 'But I've visited the base not three weeks ago, set it all back up in case I needed a base of operations.'

'Do we take the call?' Winston asked, hesitantly hovering over a button.

'Take it. Worst case scenario is that they know we're here; and face it - that's really not so bad.' Morrison straightened his back so he could cross his arms. Winston nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat, and accepted the call. The static immediately ceased, followed by a short silence.

'Winston?' A small voice came from the other side. 'Please tell me that's you, please, please, please-'

'Lena?' Winston asked, exchanging incredulous looks with Morrison, who bent over to listen closer. 'Lena, are you all right? Why are you in Sweden?'

'Oh, _God_ , you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice!' Tracer exclaimed on the other side of the line. 'I didn't know how to get this bloody thing to work and maybe you weren't at the phone and-'

'Lena, are you safe?' Winston interrupted her, a grin growing on his face despite everything. 'It's good to hear from you too, by the way.'

'Thanks, love. Yeah, I'm safe, for now anyway, the Sweden base is pretty cozy.'

'What in the world are you doing in Sweden?' Morrison growled into the microphone. A short silence answered him.

'Winston, who's that?' Lena finally asked.

'It's a long story,' Winston sighed, silently and urgently gesturing for Morrison to be quiet, 'I'll tell you all about it when you get back.'

'Alright,' Lena answered, 'look, it's the same for me- it's a really long story and I don't think I have much time.'

'Go on.'

'The thing is, I need a pick-up. Fast. Timer, remember? I don't know how many days it has been, but I don't have many left.'

'We can manage a pick-up, probably,' Morrison said. Winston sighed in relief.

'Well, there's that much, Lena. I'll do my best for you. How did you wind up there, anyway?'

'Oh gods, it's been a complete rollercoaster, Winston,' Lena said, half sobbing between words, 'being this sort of-but-not-really Talon agent and Reaper had me go on a mission with Widowmaker and I crashed the plane and the Omnium reactived and now I'm here. She's pretty exhausted so I hope she'll sleep for a little bit but I'm constantly checking, you see, if she wakes up she can't know- know that I called you-'

'Lena, Lena, it's okay,' Winston tried to hush her, to reassure her, 'you're doing great. We'll come pick you up. What kind of forces can we expect?'

'It's just me and her now.' Lena whispered.

'Alright, Lena.' Winston tried to sound calming, though his own heart was beating in his chest. 'Take a deep breath. You're doing fine. You remember the plan, right?'

'Yeah. I've got it all under control. R-right.' Lena answered hesitantly.

'Don't be afraid. You just need to hold out until we get there, then we'll take that woman off your hands.' Morrison said, a little too eager. 'Think you can do that?'

'Y-yeah. Of course.' Lena answered. 'I hear her footsteps, I think,' she suddenly yelped, voice shrill over the speaker, 'I have to go!' The line disconnected with a faint click. Winston stared at the screen, as if he could bring the connection back through sheer force of will. Morrison grunted, then lowered his hands into the pockets of his pants.

'Seems like your pawn has done her job quite well. No resistance, we can just rush in and grab the girl as well as the criminal.'

'Can we at least get Widowmaker a trial?' Winston sighed, not really in the mood to debate this again. 'Wasn't that the point of Overwatch? To bring back humanity and justice?'

'That was the old Overwatch, Winston. None of us are heroes anymore.' Morrison's voice deepened with bitter grief. 'Now, we just do what has to be done.'

 

'There you are,' a thick French accent sounded a few moments later. Widowmaker leaned relaxedly against the doorpost, a small smile playing along her lips. 'What are you doing?'

'Trying to set up communications,' Lena hurriedly explained, turning her body so that she could pull a few wires loose from the dashboard while hiding it completely from sight. 'But it's all busted. No good.'

'Too bad,' Widowmaker shrugged, walking over to the dashboard where Lena stood. She tapped the machine a few times, then turned away, disinterested. 'It's not like Reaper will wither away from loneliness, though. He just likes to keep a tight grip on things. I admit I find the lack of his constant demands for reports rather relaxing.'

'I'm sure,' Lena nodded in agreement, 'but at some point we are going to have to let them know we're alive, right? Tell Reaper not to make us dinner and such.' Widowmaker just laughed at that.

'They can track us, I am more than sure of that. They can definitely track you and they can most probably track me, too. They'll be here before you know it.'

'They- What?' Lena's eyes widened in fear, 'you mean to say they already know where we are?'

'Does that surprise you?'

'And you knew this the whole time?' Lena's voice broke in a shrill yelp of anger and fear.

'It was irrelevant until now,' Widowmaker took a small step back, holding up her hands in defense, 'I didn't keep it from you, now did I?'

'Yeah, well, I would have liked to know _a little earlier_!'

'I'm sorry, Lena,' Widowmaker pursed her lips and shrugged, 'there's nothing I can do about it now.'

Lena furiously stared at the woman's face, who nonchalantly stood, weight resting on one leg, the other casually bent. There was no malice, perhaps just a little amusement in her features.

'Are you _enjoying_ watching me squirm here?' Lena felt her anger melt away with her fear. Harmless. The assassin was absolutely harmless at this point. It was actually a little sickening how easy it had been. But Lena guessed that is what happens when you scramble people's brains for multiple years; they become messed up. Too trusting. Dependent.

'Maybe a little,' Widowmaker laughed. Lena's expression softened at that and she managed a smile.

'Rude,' Lena said, pressing her hands firmly to her hips in a defiant stance, 'I hate it when you're like this.' Widowmaker's lips only curled further into a grin as she stepped closer, twirling a strand of Lena's hair around a long finger. Lena took a step back and Widowmaker followed in a fluid motion, never letting the distance between them grow nor shrink. When Lena looked up to her, eyes wide, Widowmaker's grin turned downright predatory, her eyes glinting with something mischievous.

'What,' Lena managed to say. Widowmaker leaned in and gave her upper lip a soft kiss.

'You're lying,' she whispered, 'I can tell.'

Lena faked a shy laugh. She'd play the game, just a little longer now. If only that feeling of guilt would stop creeping in the back of her mind.

 

'Sit down, dear. It's been too long.'

'Thank you, Ana.' Angela's voice came from the corner of the room as Ana, with an experienced and steady hand, poured the fragrant tea. The creaking of the old couch indicated that her visitor had sat down, and it brought a smile to Ana's face. She hadn't had visitors in a long time. It had been a long time since she'd had regular friends even, and now she'd been welcomed back as if nothing had happened. Contact with Fareeha was still a little difficult, sometimes, but she tried her best and so did her daughter. Seeing her old colleague Angela again filled her with joy. Or, it would have, had she not been so worried at the sight of her.

'You've been going through a rough time, I hear,' Ana said as she brought the tea over. Angela gratefully accepted it, sipping it so she could think about her words.

'Yes, you could say that,' she finally decided to say. 'Who told you-'

'Jack, of course,' Ana laughed, relaxing in her chair, sitting across from Angela. 'Though I would have pried it out of Fareeha eventually.' That made the blonde laugh, and Ana was glad to see there was still some joy left in her.

'Well, I'm sure Jack spared no details about the future plans for Overwatch, then?' Angela stared into her cup.

'Hmm. He's changed. We all have, I suppose,' Ana thoughtfully replied. 'It's a dangerous plan, especially for poor Lena. So young, and to go through all this...'

'She doesn't even know Genji's gone yet,' Angela nodded, following Ana's string of thought, 'she doesn't know you're here, or that Jack's here, nothing.'

It was comfortably silent as they both thought about this. Ana studied Angela's features, her sunken eyes, her hallowed cheeks. Something needed to change before the doctor lost herself in her grief.

'I actually came here to ask for some advice,' Angela suddenly said. She took another long sip of her tea as if to strengthen herself before asking. Ana just waited, patiently, more motherly than ever.

'If you were in my position right now, would you join the mission to retrieve Lena? Fareeha said not to, but I'm just not sure anymore, what to do, what not to do...' she trailed off, stared at her cup for a couple more seconds, then lifted her face to peer into Ana's eyes. Ana stroked her chin in thought.

'Well, I am not you, but I will tell you what I know,' Ana finally began, carefully choosing her words. 'You experienced grave loss. I know how that feels, I know how it feels when you see the life slipping away from those you were supposed to protect.' She took a deep breath, then continued, her voice steady and assuring.

'I was betrayed too, by someone I had once trusted, and I paid the price for it. I paid the price because I hesitated. And if there is one thing I learned, my dear Angela, then it is this: you cannot act if you hesitate. You cannot _protect anyone_ if you hesitate. So you choose forgiveness, or you choose vengeance, but you cannot stay in between.'

'I choose vengeance,' Angela immediately said, sternly. Ana only nodded understandingly.

'Good. I would have done the same.'

'So I'll go.'

'You should go. And when you stand eye to eye with her, you have to take the shot I could not take.'

 

'I understand if you don't want to do this,' Widowmaker said as she opened a cabinet drawer, 'I have plenty of time and I'm sure I can get all the intel I need by myself.'

'It's alright,' Lena said, bending behind a turned-over desk to retrieve the papers scattered there, 'gotta pay off that new accelerator somehow, right?' She quickly checked if Widowmaker wasn't watching, then separated the classified documents from the regular ones and chucked them behind another cabinet. This way, at least she could prevent some sensitive Overwatch information from falling into Talon's greedy claws. She found herself listening for the sound of airplanes more and more often, expectantly, longing to go home. Ever since the brief phonecall she'd felt more homesick than ever, and she couldn't wait to be safe and sound back in London again. Everything just seemed to take forever because she was still not there.

She mulled about how she was going to get Widowmaker to come with her quietly. Surely if Winston would be here they'd be able to apprehend her, but Lena preferred not to use violence. It was that gnarly voice in the back of her head that would keep arguing with her common sense, not to be too hard on the woman. Lena found herself listing all of Widowmaker's wrongdoings in her head just to convince herself of _who she was dealing with here_ , and then she'd get a hand treading through her hair caringly or a whispered thank you and she'd have to do it all over again. It was maddening. Infuriating. Still no sound of airplanes. Just a little longer.

So no violence if at all possible. She'd thought about simply asking her, if Widowmaker'd not like to leave Talon and... then what? Offer her a future in Overwatch? Back where she began?

It was plausible, but unlikely to work. Also an incredibly high chance of Widowmaker immediately ratting her out to Talon and things only getting worse from that point. But perhaps she could trick her. Get her to stay close enough for her pick-up team to figure something out. They'd probably bring tranquilizers. Right. She just needed Widowmaker to stay close, and to trust her. That was the most important.

'Three disciplinary warnings?' Widowmaker clicked her tongue in mock disapproval, 'you're a downright scoundrel is what you are.' Lena peered over the overturned desk to see Widowmaker leaning against the cabinet, an old cardstock file folder in her hands. On the cover the faded nametag said "Lena Oxton".

'Oh, did you find my file? 'S gotta be an old one, isn't it?' Lena laughed, walking over to check out the file. It was an older file, incomplete, and only containing information from her first few years in Overwatch. However, it did still contain files from her recruitment, as well as her pilot academy track record.

'There was this one class I just hated,' Lena said, a faint red blush on her cheeks as she looked at the note about the disciplinary warnings. 'I just couldn't be bothered to go. That's all I ever did though!'

'I'm sure,' Widowmaker laughed, handing over the file. 'You can keep it, there's nothing in there that I need.'

'Just put it back then,' Lena shrugged. She pulled open another drawer and was pleased to see most files were completely empty, or only contained old, useless information. From the corner of her eye, she saw Widowmaker pull out file after file, thumbing some of them through, ignoring others completely. Suddenly, she halted her movement, staring at the nametag of the file she'd just pulled up.

'Who you got there- oh,' Lena asked as she walked over, and her stomach dropped when she saw the name.

Widowmaker carefully pulled down the file, staring hard at the nametag. Lena gently grabbed her arm and gestured for her to sit down on the ground in front of the cabinet. After a moment, Widowmaker let herself be led. She never took her eyes off the file.

'You know who that is, don't you?' Lena carefully asked.

'Gérard Lacroix,' Widowmaker quietly said, and then after a moment's hesitation added, 'my first target.'

'He was a little more than that, love,' Lena said, unintentionally letting sorrow sound through in her voice. 'You're actually still wearing his ring.'

She noticed Widowmaker idly playing with the ring under her glove, visibly hesitating whether she should open the file or not. Her eyes shot back and forth as she remembered, or tried to remember, but it didn't seem to do much good.

'Tell me what's on your mind right now,' Lena finally tried. She interlaced her fingers and waited, studying Widowmaker's features. It had become so familiar, so normal for her to do this that it was a strange thought that it would all be over soon. She wanted to commit her features to memory, for unexplainable reasons.

'I feel uneasy,' Widowmaker said, 'I thought I recognized the name but I don't know what his face looked like or what his voice sounded like or why my heart is beating so fast.'

'Do you want me to tell you about him?' Lena asked.

'No,' Widowmaker shook her head, 'no, he's gone now. I did exactly as I was supposed to do. I guess I don't even need this file.'

'Then, let's put the file away-'

'I don't _want_ to.' Widowmaker's fingers tightened around the file, then loosened as she hesitated, and then tightened with extra force. 'I don't want to forget about him again.'

'You seem kind of torn about this,' Lena carefully said. Widowmaker's eyes narrowed at her, but she wouldn't be intimidated. 'Just take a deep breath, and open the file. There might be nothing of value in there, and then you won't have any regrets.'

Widowmaker nodded, and carefully opened the file. There was no personal data left inside, only a case report of a planned invasion on a Talon base from years ago. The pages were yellowed and out of order, but it was still easy to make out what it was for. It described the location, possible hazards, and found terrorist activity on the first pages. On the next, there was an extensive plan for the attack, the planned route, the expected retaliating forces, several back-up plans, and possible candidates for agents to be set out on the mission. Widowmaker thumbed through the pages with a glossy, blank look on her face. She stopped on one of the final pages of the report, her eyebrows curling up and her eyes suddenly filled with sorrow.

 

                                                                                                           _Advanced tactical mission #533_

_page 12/43_

_as aforementioned, casualties will be prevented as much as possible. This mission will be executed with the utmost precision. If any agent finds reason to doubt the plan will work, the mission will be aborted immediately to guarantee the safety of the team._

_Goal of the mission: ~~Retrieve civilian hostage.~~_

_Get Amélie back. I beg of you._

_\- Gérard_

 

Widowmaker let her fingers glide over the handwritten message on the paper, not even noticing that she held her breath. Lena just stared at her face, at the sorrow playing over her features, not quite breaking through but definitely there. As soon and suddenly as it had appeared, the emotion was gone. Widowmaker snapped the file shut and shook her head, decidedly putting the file back. At Lena's protesting 'Hey!', she only replied with an annoyed growl.

'It's in the past,' she said, jamming the file back in the cabinet, 'he's dead, he's been dead for years, nothing to worry about. Mission complete.'

'You can't be serious right now.' Lena retorted in disbelief.

' _Je m'en fiche_ , Lena, just leave me alone.' Widowmaker snapped, violently shutting the drawer with a loud clang.

'What, no, I'm not going to back down now,' Lena said, hopping back onto her feet. She closed the distance between them, pressing her chest up against Widowmaker's back. It no longer felt alien, instead there was warm familiarity that Lena didn't really want to admit to herself. Her arms wrapped loosely around the woman's waist, and she breathed against her ear. She felt Widowmaker relax under her touch.

'I'm here,' Lena murmured, 'you don't need to hide anything.'

'Sometimes I can remember things.' Widowmaker spoke without turning around, her voice quiet and muffled by the cabinet she stood by. 'Vague, fleeting memories. Just... details or specific situations. Nothing really complete, just fragments of things that may or may not have happened. It might all just be dreams, I wouldn't know.'

'Do you mind them? The fragments?' Lena slowly nuzzled Widowmaker's shoulder blades.

'In the beginning, yes. They brought a pain I couldn't bear, but also couldn't place. Now, I don't feel much. I just... get reminded.'

'And you don't want to remember more? To get some of your past life back?' Lena asked, bitterly reminded that her question reflected her own desires. While the Chronal Accelerator had given her powers beyond belief, she couldn't help but long for the time when she'd been free of it. Where no time warp or limit could ever bother her. Widowmaker thought for a moment before she answered.

'I guess not. There is little from my past that still holds meaning to me,' she said, and Lena noticed her playing with the ring around her finger again, 'and even if I did remember, any feelings connected to them are gone.'

She turned around slowly, careful so as not to break Lena's embrace. Her long fingers found Lena's cheeks and she caressed them, gaze catching Lena's. Lena felt a warmth in her chest, and for once the voice in her head kept quiet. She enjoyed this moment, this oasis of silence, looking into the other woman's eyes, where nothing but trust was displayed. She closed her eyes as Widowmaker rested her forehead against hers, finding so much solace, so much peace in the simple gesture.

'But this,' Widowmaker whispered, her eyes closed as well, ' _this_ I wish to remember. Right here. With you.'

'So do I,' Lena replied equally as softly, hands tenderly resting against Widowmaker's chest. She felt a faint heartbeat that she'd somehow started to associate more with safety than danger.

Lena felt the trembling before she heard the sound, but when the reality sunk in, the planes already flew over at full speed. She jerked free from the embrace, startled by the sudden realization. She noticed Widowmaker's eyes questioningly narrow at her panicked response, but she couldn't explain. Instead, Lena ran towards the front door to peer through the windows. Another jetblack plane soared over, flying low, clearly headed for a destination nearby.

'The Omnium,' Lena realized, 'there's Talon planes headed towards the Omnium!'

'That must be our pick-up,' Widowmaker joined her at the window, completely relaxed. 'But they better not enter the Omnium, they'll be decimated.' She didn't see Lena nervously chewing her cheek.

'How many of them are there, do you think?' Lena asked. Her previous peace had been completely replaced by cold, hard fear, piercing her lungs, suffocating her from inside. Widowmaker shook her head.

'More than I expected. Hey, Lena, come here.' Widowmaker said, turning Lena to face her by grabbing her arm. Then she sank through one knee to be at eye-level with Lena's accelerator. On the left, she held a button for multiple seconds, until a faint static noise could be heard. She kept tapping the button until the line stabilized. Lena's eyes widened. The _radio_. She'd completely forgotten.

'Testing, testing,' Widowmaker spoke into the connection, 'Reaper, come in.' A silence followed. A look of confusion made Widowmaker's eyebrows frown for a moment before she stubbornly tried again.

'This is Widowmaker, come in,' she repeated, her voice stern. 'Can you hear me?'

'Hello, Widowmaker,' a cold, feminine voice replied, and upon hearing it, Lena's face paled to an ashen grey. 'This is Angela Ziegler. I can hear you just fine.'

 

'The Omnium's fully active, sir. What are your orders?'

Reaper cursed under his breath. His forces had stayed at a safe distance for now, and he would not waste them to retrieve a pair of corpses. His officer, standing next to him, did also not seem too keen on the prospect of entering the factory.

'What are the chances of them being alive in there?' Reaper asked, sighing heavily. There was another possible entrance to the Omnium, but it would cost them many perfectly good Talon lives. No use in wasting them.

'Close to none. The Omnic attacked our scouts viciously once they tried to enter but don't seem to be aggressive outside of the factory. Any intruders would be destroyed almost instantly, with the sheer numbers of them inside.'

Both turned at the heavy roar of an airplane, and Reaper turned his head to look up at the sky. The silver airplane he immediately recognized from a past he'd rather not recall. Inside him, an old flame was rekindled and burst into a wildfire.

'Leave the Omnium for now. Mobilize the troops - we're heading for that Overwatch airship.'

 

Lena felt lost in time, as if the world moved faster than she could think and then suddenly slowed down until every moment lasted an eternity. Widowmaker's look of utter betrayal, her confusion and sadness and genuine pain, seemed to last for hours, destined to be burned into Tracer's mind's eye forever. However her sudden scrambling backwards, then when she somehow gracefully got to her feet and threw open the door in one fluid motion, it seemed to go faster than the speed of light. Lena blinked her eyes once, and she was gone.

'Lena?' Winston's voice sounded from the device on her chest.

'Oh Christ,' Lena cried out, 'this was not supposed to happen!'

'Where are you?' Winston asked, matter-of-factly though he could not completely hide the concern in his voice.

'I'm going after her. We're outside the Overwatch base.'

'Gotcha. We’re coming your way.'

Lena didn't bother answering, instead she ran out into the cold. She saw a trail of long strides in the snow and set in the chase. She could still follow. It might not be too late.

Lena willed the plan away from her mind. All she could think about was that look of betrayal. Even if everything went wrong now, even if it all turned out to be meaningless - she wanted to explain. She wanted to take away the pain she had inflicted. It was wrong, it was incredibly wrong but her heart ached and she just wanted to scream.

'Widowmaker!' she cried out into the snow, trying to raise her voice over the roar of the planes in the air. A silver plane had landed on the other side of the field, between the base and the Omnium. The worn, faded logo on the side spelled "Overwatch". She strained her eyes to follow the direction of the trail. Widowmaker had gone towards the Omnium, but later on strayed towards the forest. Lena vaguely wondered why. She grit her teeth and continued the chase, invigorated, unable to feel cold or pain. She had to find her. The air was warm and tense with the fumes from airplane engines. She knew Talon was close, too. It was just a matter of luck who would find who first.

 

‘Stay with me,’ Fareeha said, testing the wings on her powersuit once more. After a moment of thought, she added a half-hearted ‘please’. Angela merely gave her a disdainful look in response.

‘Don’t tell me what to do, Pharah.’ 

‘It looks like we’ve got company,’ Winston said, leading in front of the group as they walked onto the field. ‘We best locate Lena as soon as possible and get out of here.’

‘We’ll split up. Meet back here in an hour at the latest, and keep in touch.’ Morrison agreed. ‘If Talon-‘ he started, but agitatedly stopped his sentence as Angela extended the wings of her Valkyrie suit and took off, not even looking back. ‘She’s going to get herself killed.’

‘I’ll go after her,’ Pharah sighed, her expression torn between concerned and exhausted. ‘Please find Lena before she does.’

 

Widowmaker ran aimlessly. She knew not what to do except to tell her legs to keep moving. Go, go, keep going, as far as you can. She could keep this up. She’d run to the end of the world if she had to.

Talon ships in her peripheral vision. She wanted to see Reaper. Hear his voice. Have him tell her she did good. That everything was as it should be. But he’d ask her about Lena. About _Tracer,_ Widowmaker corrected her own thoughts. How could she have been so foolish, she didn’t know. She’d fallen for the trap she herself had tried to set. But she’d inexplicably tumbled right into it and now it _hurt._ It hurt her more than she could describe, hurt her more with every step she took. Every mark that Lena - no, Tracer - had ever set on her felt like a brand on her skin. She didn’t want to feel like this, didn’t want to be like this. She needed to go. To run.

‘Widowmaker!’ a voice called behind her. She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. She was unarmed and unhinged.

‘Please!’ the voice had come closer. Tracer. Widowmaker changed direction, bending to the right. She could see the light of Tracer’s chronal accelerator in the corner of her eye. She was at a disadvantage, but she’d fight. She’d fight until the bitter end if only to bring Tracer the same pain as her own.

Tracer blinked to her side, and that was her chance. She elbowed to the side, hitting Tracer in the ribs. The girl quickly retaliated, yanking on Widowmaker’s arm and using their velocity to her advantage. They tumbled through the snow. Widowmaker saw a flash of white and grabbed one of Tracer’s handguns. She somehow managed to come out on top, holding the gun with two hands. She felt her hands shake. She remembered her aiming for the device last time. This time, she would not be so foolish. She pressed the barrel of the gun against the girl’s forehead. She didn’t look at Tracer’s eyes, for fear of feeling that cold anguish rise up in her chest again.

‘Here we are again,’ Tracer said. ‘But this time, I’m not scared of you.’

‘You should be,’ Widowmaker hissed, aggressive like a cornered animal. ‘I’m going to do what I should have done right that first time. And this time _I’ll make sure you’re dead_.’

‘Touching, really.’ A third voice, colder than the climate around them, sneered. The snow crunched under two sets of heavy boots. 'I'd almost believe it was real.'

‘Widowmaker, hold up your hands where I can see them,’ Pharah’s voice was stern and businesslike. She gestured with her chin to the side to order the assassin to get off Lena.

‘Pharah!’ Lena gasped, her eyes shooting back and forth between the two, ‘Angie, please let me explain!’

‘Not a word,’ Angela replied stone-faced. She stepped forward to hold Widowmaker at gunpoint.

‘Is this how you treat your comrades?’ Widowmaker scoffed, moving back slowly, though her grip on Lena's handgun only tightened. She kept the weapon aimed at Lena's head.  

'Neither of you are,' Angela merely said, taking one more confident step closer. 'Lower your gun.'

'I don't think so, _chèrie_ ,' Widowmaker hissed. Angela didn't miss the way Widowmaker's eyes darted over the scene as she calculated a way out. She'd seen it a hundred times before.

'You think I won't shoot you just because you're aiming at that traitor?' Angela's smirk grew into a full-out, terrifying grin.

'Oh, she's a traitor to you too?' Widowmaker's lips curled into an amused, smug little smile. 'It seems the _pétite souris_ is not entirely sure where she belongs anymore.' For a split moment, Lena saw Angela's determination waver. She noticed the fraction of a second where the realization of that statement sunk in, where Angela's gaze slid over Lena's face and where she asked herself if Lena was to be trusted. Then she only gripped her gun harder.

'Give me one reason not to gun you down right here,' Angela growled, her eyes darkening until they were almost pitch black.

'We _need_ her,' Lena ground out, her chest aching from the strain and tension. She felt like her heart could jump out of her chest any second, it was beating so quickly. She didn't know who to keep an eye on, the three women in front of her all extremely dangerous. Of the three, she felt the most concerned about Angela. The hollowed out, ashen face, the ferocious snarl and the wild eyes were things she'd never seen on the doctor before.

And as she looked from Widowmaker to Mercy to Pharah, Lena felt her options melt away. She knew what she had to do. She just wished it wouldn't hurt so much now, to actually do it.

'Widowmaker, lower your gun.' Lena said, forcing her voice to sound calm, to sound collected and confident. 'Lower your gun and I will help you.' She hadn't fully expected it to work, though she'd hoped it would. Widowmaker gave her one long, sorrowful look, and then lowered the gun. Lena knew she'd considered every other way out, and wouldn't have done so if she'd had any other exit route. Three against one were bad odds even for Widowmaker. Pharah immediately jumped into action, rotating Widowmaker's arms behind her back and forcing her onto her knees, making her drop the gun. Angela kept her eyes and weapon trained on the assassin's face.

'Let me prove to you that I'm still the person you know, Angie,' Lena said quietly as she got up and kneeled in front of the captured assassin. She reached for the medicine wallet in the pouch strapped to Widowmaker's thigh, and tried not to hear the fearful gasp that came from her lips.

'Lena, no,' Widowmaker pleaded. Lena zipped the wallet open and grabbed the first vial, inserting it into the syringe.

'Just kill me, Lena, don't take all this away from me!' Widowmaker trashed against Pharah's unrelenting grip. Lena set the syringe against Widowmaker's thigh.

'I'm sorry, Widowmaker,' she whispered, pressing the needle in and emptying the first vial. Then she ejected the empty vial with trembling hands and inserted the second one into the syringe. Widowmaker trashed as hard as she could, head whipping back and forth, trying to somehow put some distance between them. Her voice broke when Lena readied the needle for the second time.

'Lena, I _beg of you-_ '

Lena wound her fingers around the syringe, positioning her arm.

'I don't want to forget, Lena, please-'

The needle against taut, trembling skin. Widowmaker's panicked sobs against her cheeks.

'I loved you.'

Lena pressed down, emptying the second vial. Then she held Widowmaker's face gently, pressing against her forehead with her own. She felt cold, real tears running down the woman's face.

'I loved you too,' Lena whispered, entrusting her this secret, willing away the sorrow in her own heart. 'And now, I can't hurt you ever again.'


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are back! Thank you all for sticking around during this long wait and as always for your thoughts!

'Thanks, man,' he says, slicking back jet black hair as he accepts the papers handed to him. 'What would I do without you, Jack?'

'Don't mention it,' Jack Morrison smiles back. 'I'm sure without me your work would be just as good.'

'I doubt that, but you're too humble to accept a compliment.' The man smiles widely, amicably punching his friend's shoulder with a fist. Jack blocks it without a second thought.

'Get on it, Gérard, you rascal.'

She watches them from the corridor, a smile on her face. Such fraternization doesn't occur often at the special police headquarters where she works. As the main organizer of RAID, the French special police, she's used to the stiff customs of the military. She's glad to be visiting Overwatch, if only for today. Her bag slides slightly off her shoulder, and she straightens out the strap before stepping closer. Her knuckles knock against the doorframe, announcing her presence.  

' _Excusez-moi_ , monsieur Morrison..?'

He whirls around, smile broadening as he recognizes her. He greets her by kissing her cheeks according to French custom, and then puts a hand on the small of her back to lead her to the desk.

'Amélie! Wonderful to see you. Have you met Gérard Lacroix?'

'Pleased to make your acquaintance, monsieur Lacroix,' she smiles politely as she shakes Gérard's hand.

'The pleasure is all mine,' he answers with a lopsided grin.

'Gérard is Overwatch's tactical analyst, and one of our most valuable assets. Anything you need to get this collaboration up and running, he'll know about.' Jack explained. He turned to his friend as he added, slightly quieter, 'if you need any special clearance for anything, Gérard, you know where to find me.'

Amélie's eyes drift over the men before her. She's tense with anticipation, the collaboration contracts heavy in her shoulder bag. She wants to make the most of these negotiations, wants it so much that her heart pounds quickly in her chest. Gérard notices the glint of ambition in her gaze, and smiles.

'I'm sure I'll manage.'

 

Floating, drifting. Your mind feels hazy. You hear voices around you, but they're distant and unclear. When you try to move your body, it's like you have no limbs. Your brain gives a command but it gets lost in the pathway, there's no response, no feedback. Your eyes are open but you can't see, or maybe they are closed - it doesn't matter. Nothing matters now. Your heart is empty, unlike your mind, which is full of images. You can't tell if they are dreams or memories, and you don't care. You want your limbs back, you try to struggle, to no avail.

 

She stacks the papers neatly and lets out an exhausted sigh. The negotiations with Overwatch have been ongoing for weeks and have been more difficult than she anticipated, but there has been good progress. She hopes to finally get the contracts signed within the fortnight. She glances at the clock; past eight already. These negotiations were quickly raking up all the extra hours the government would be willing to pay, and then some. She couldn't wait to go home and relax.

'Amélie?' Gérard stands in the doorway, an apologetic smile on his face.

'You're still here,' she half-states, half asks, as the man had left her office about thirty minutes ago. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

'My car broke down,' he sighs, 'would you mind giving me a ride to the station?'

'Not at all,' she smiles, and starts putting her papers in her bag. 'One moment.'

'You're a lifesaver,' he breathes, and finds himself following with his eyes the movements of the long legs under the pencil skirt she wears.

 

They sit in her car,  the radio on low volume, and she taps the steering wheel with gloved fingers, more out of habit than impatience at this point.

'Where do you live?' she asks, shifting gears as the traffic lights turn green.

'12th arrondissement,' he answers, and her eyebrows raise a little. 'By the Seine.'

'Lucky you,' she purses her lips a little, but smiles anyway. 'I didn't know Overwatch paid thát well.'

'It's a high profile organization,' Gérard shrugs, 'high risk, high reward. It could all come crumbling down tomorrow and then I'd have no way to pay the rent.'

'That is why you want to collaborate with RAID, then,' she laughs, and he joins in with her. He notices her quickly checking the road and then changing lanes.

'I'll take you home. I don't live far from you, actually.' She turns to change directions, smoothly guiding the car in between the impossible Parisian traffic with practiced ease.

'Oh?'

'19th. It's only a small detour.'

'19th, huh,' he says, checking for incoming traffic over his shoulder. 'Not a place to live for the faint of heart.'

'Ha!' she barks a short laugh, 'It's definitely not as nice as 12th, that's for sure.'

It's quiet for a moment, apart from the thrum of Amélie's car.

'You uh,' Gérard clears his thoat, 'you got anyone waiting for you? In the 19th arrondissement?' She hesitates before she answers.

'A dance troupe, but only on the weekends, unfortunately.' A soft smile graces her lips. 'As you can see, it's not like I have much spare time with this job, god forbid I have time for anyone-' An incoming car running the red light makes her stomp down on the brakes, instantly stopping the car, '-else.'

They both exhale slowly, eyes slightly wide. Then after a few seconds, Amélie restarts the engine.

'It's been a long day,' Gérard concedes.

'It has,' she agrees.

'Tell you what,' Gérard ghosts his fingers over the back of Amélie's hand as she shifts gears, and to his delight she makes eye contact with him for a fraction of a second before looking back at the traffic. 'Why don't you let me make you some dinner, if we're going to my place anyway? It's the least I can do.'

'Thank you,' she smiles cheerfully, 'that would be really nice.'

 

Distant screaming, you hear something like a gunshot. If there's any sort of worry in your mind, it only consists of memories. You remember being affected by emotions, a long, long time ago - a past gone forever. A pain sears up your arm, as if somebody drags a grater down your skin. You still can't move, but it's alright. Death is close and you're longing for it. You feel like the only thing it'll take for you to go is to drift off to sleep, to close your eyes and let the dark envelop you. However your eyes won't close, or are already closed, and death remains barely out of reach. You'd be frustrated if you felt anything at all. Instead, you wait. Patiently. The fog closes again in front of your mind's eye.

 

'Gérard, you haven't told me where we are going,' she asks, giggling excitedly as he holds the car door open and offers her a hand to help her get out. She lingers close to him, then reluctantly lets go to straighten out her long evening dress.

'You'll love it, I promise,' he offers her an arm and locks the car with the remote. She makes sure her diamond necklace sits just right and then joins him, feeling like a million dollars. She didn't get to dress up much. She'd make the most of it.

He leads her inside the theatre and suddenly she gasps.

'Gérard, did you..?'

'Might have pulled some strings to get tickets, yeah.' He grins, a little bit smug, but she doesn't mind. She looks up at the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the candles in the corners, and the mosaic floors of the ballroom. A butler offers them gold-leafed champagne, which she picks up from the silver platter with wide eyes.

'How did you pay for all this, Gérard?' She asks, the realization still not fully sinking in. He laughs in response.

'You're asking the wrong questions, _mon amour_ ,' he gently leads her through the crowd, proudly showing her off to whoever cares to look. 'You should be asking, "Gérard, how come you're taking me to the most famous ballroom dance in the country if you can't even dance?" - to which I'd answer, well, I have another surprise for you.' He gently takes the champagne from her and sets it aside, before tenderly grasping her hand and leading her onto the dancefloor. 'Please thank Angela for training so vigorously with me these past three weeks.'

'So that is where you have been disappearing off to!' She tries to feign offense, but is too overwhelmed to make it convincing.

Her smile makes his whole chest burn with love as she leans against him, and he leads her into the dance as the music starts to play. The way she looks into his eyes that night, he swears he'll never forget.

They sway to the orchestral tunes, lost in one another. His steps are carefully confident, hers trained and passionate. They complete each other perfectly, making their motion seem effortless.

Amélie lifts her hand to caress his cheek, and in that moment, he only sees her. He bends down to kiss her, and she slides her arms around his neck. They only break apart when the music slows and then stops.

When her eyes open, a soft yellow spotlight is aimed at them. The host of the dance, an aging, rich widow, as well as owner of the theatre, comes towards them, a microphone in hand.

'How wonderful!' She stands next to them, presenting them to the crowd with a wide gesture of her left hand. 'Your name, sir?'

'Gérard Lacroix,' he answers, a little taken aback. The host gives him a motherly smile, then raises the microphone back to her mouth.

'An applause for monsieur et madame Lacroix, please.' She turns to them once more, lowering the microphone. 'Brilliant dance performance. I wish you both a bright future.'

As she disappears into the crowd, most heads have turned away. Amélie puts her hand over heart to feel it pounding. She's sure she's blushing.

'"Madame Lacroix _"_ ,' Gérard whispers to her, 'I really like the sound of that.'

 

' _Süße_ , would you stop fidgeting for a second? I'm _trying_ to lace your dress-'

'It's just, my hair, it won't stay put..'

'Your hair looks lovely, Amélie, believe me. I'll help you with it in a second. Just stay still.' Angela's deft fingers lace the white ribbon through the grommets, pulling the white dress closed. Finally she reaches the bottom, and makes a beautiful bow of the ends of the ribbon. She adjusts them for a second, then stands up and admires her handiwork.

'There. Stunning.'

'Are you sure? What if he won't like me?' Amélie can't stop twirling the one lock of hair that curls down her temple, unsure whether to tuck it into her braided updo or to leave it as it is. Angela gently takes her hands and looks at her best friend. She can't help but smile.

'Oh my dear,' she squeezes Amélie's hands reassuringly, 'you look like an angel. And Gérard has been smitten with you from the beginning. He will only love you more once he sees you.'

'Thank you,' Amélie lets out a shivering breath, 'I'm just so nervous..'

'You have no reason to be, though being a little antsy is normal. This is your big day!' Angela smiles, turning around to grab a box near the door. She carefully lifts the lid and takes out a delicate tiara with a long white veil attached to it. She positions her friend in front of the full length mirror, so she can see herself. Then she places the glittering tiara upon Amélie's braided hair, fastening it with clips. The veil drapes beautifully over her shoulders, and both women sigh quietly.

'You look -' Angela starts, and Amélie finishes her sentence.

'Like a bride.'

'I was going to say "wonderful". But you're not done quite yet.' From her purse, she takes out a tiny, expensive looking box. 'Something old, something new.. I know you're not into superstition, Amélie.'

'Oh Angela, you shouldn't have!'

'You already have both something old and something new. So I'll give you something borrowed. That leaves something blue, which I don't have, but it's just an excuse to give you these, anyway.' Angela smiles, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Amélie hugs her tightly, tears welling up in her eyes.

'Can I see?'

'Of course,' Angela opens the box to reveal two round crystal earrings, subtle, but beautiful. Amélie picks them up with trembling hands to wear them.

'They're beautiful,' she sighs, smiling gratefully.

'Not as beautiful as you,' Angela squeezes her shoulders and adjusts the veil one last time. 'I think you're ready to go.'

'Thank you for being here with me, Ange,' Amélie whispers, wiping away a tear. She looks at her best friend's face for a moment and then hugs her tightly again. When she lets go, Angela also wipes away a tear.

'Now don't start crying or I'll start too,' Angela grins, 'and we haven't even started yet.'

'When you get married, I want to do all these things for you, too.' Amélie says, suddenly determined. 'Promise me!' Angela laughs at that, and simply shakes her head.

'I know you'll find someone, Angela,' Amélie grasps her friend's face tenderly with both hands, palms against her cheeks, and looks directly in her eyes. Angela stares back into her passionate, intense gaze, and forces herself to ignore the fluttering in her chest.

'Why don't you worry about your own wedding first?' Angela takes Amélie's hands in her own, lowering them from her face, holding her slightly longer than necessary. 'Are you ready to become Amélie Lacroix from this point on?'

'I am,' Amélie smiles, taking a deep breath. 'I am ready.'

 

A voice calls out. You recognize the voice but don't remember the name. 'Widowmaker, Widowmaker,' she says - and you know, she means you. You try to move but you can't, and all your phantom limbs hurt and you can't see her. Her voice seems to be coming from all sides. The grater goes over your arm again.

'Please, don't hurt her, let me help-' a yelp cuts off the noise. Tracer. The word floats in your mind and you try to think about who it is. Vague images float forward. Tracer is dead. Isn't she?

You can't bring yourself to care.

 

She paces around their living room. In one hand, she holds her phone, fingers hovering over the buttons. In the other, clenched tightly in her fist, she holds the pregnancy test. She takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. Surely- he wouldn't be mad? They hadn't really talked about it yet, though Gérard had expressed his wishes for a family of his own, they hadn't been.. seriously considering..

With a huff, she sits down at the dinner table, dropping both the phone and the test on it. She buries her face in the palms of her hands and groans. This was not at all what she'd been expecting.

She feels nervous, though also a little excited. Perhaps it was time for this step, if Gérard would be positive about the idea? They'd been married for a while, now. There was more than enough space. She could work part-time, and Gérard could try not to make so many extra hours. Surely he would agree?

She picks up the phone, and scrolls through her auto-dial contacts. After a moment of consideration, she skips over Gérard and selects Angela. The phone only rings once before it is picked up.

'Angela Ziegler,' the doctor answers the phone with a breathy voicing of her name.

'Ange, it's Amélie. Is this a bad time?'

'Oh, _Süße,_ no it's fine - forgive me, I just finished an immense operation not thirty minutes ago. Young man, presumably assaulted by his brother, he was on the brink of death - anyway. How can I help?'

'It's just- I have news, I think.' Amélie bites her lip.

'Good or bad news?'

'Well, I,' Amélie takes a deep breath and then decides to just go with it. 'Angela, I'm pregnant.'

The silence on the other side seems to stretch out forever. Then she hears her best friend's ringing laughter and relief washes over her.

'Oh, Amélie, that's- that's wonderful! Congratulations!'

'You think so?'

'Of course! Have you told Gérard yet?'

'No, I wasn't sure...' Amélie feels a little silly for doubting herself. She's glad Angela always makes her feel better.

'You should tell him.' Angela says warmly. 'He's going to be ecstatic.'

'Alright, I will. Thank you, Ange.'

'Not a problem. Hey - I'm going to catch a couple hours of sleep, because I've been up all night, but I'll come by later tonight, is that alright?' She hears her voice waver from exhaustion, and Amélie smiles to herself.

'I'd love that. Go get some rest.'

'See you!'

She puts down the phone and hears the window shatter behind her. She's startled and looks around, only to hear another window upstairs shatter as well. Her only thought is that her gun is upstairs, before three men, clad all in black, wearing masks adorned with the face of a skull, surround her. There's a blunt force to the back of her head and the world goes black.

 

You thrash your unfeeling limbs, trying to get the images out of your mind. You know where this is going- and you don't like it. I don't want to, you scream, but your throat is full of thick liquid, taking away all sound. Don't make me relive this. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to live like this.

'Hush, Widowmaker,' Tracer says. There is a cold upon your forehead. 'Mercy said it'll pass. You'll feel better.'

You don't want to feel better, you want it to stop. You can only whine as your mind sinks back into the memories.

 

She opens her eyes slowly, seeing the same plain white room once again. No matter how she wishes that it would all end, that it would all just disappear, every time she opens her eyes she's back in this godforsaken place. Her wrists and ankles strapped to the chair, her head throbbing. She doesn't even know what they do but it hurts, it hurts so much that for hours after they've gone the pain still throbs and stings. A high screeching sound pierces her mind and won't stop ringing in her ears.

'We've made tremendous amounts of progress with subject 57, and that in only three days.' Two men enter the room. One, black hair, black suit, both slick and pristine, the other in a worn army outfit. She recognizes the second man's face immediately, and she sees him noticing her too.

'Gabriel!' she cries, voice broken and hoarse, 'Gabriel, please- you have to get me out of here!'

Gabriel Reyes does not reply. His eyes narrow, sorrow pulling his features in a frown as his eyes glide over her.

'She's still got a lot of energy,' he finally says, his voice deep and monotone, devoid of any emotion.

'Some subjects are harder to break, but it's only a matter of time. Come, I'll show you how the water tank works.' The Talon officer wrings his hands. He speaks curtly into his earpiece and two guards appear, unfastening Amélie's bonds and dragging her into another room.

 

It is exactly seventeen days later that she enters the Talon base again. She is barefooted, her arms smeared up to her elbows in blood. She stands, trembling, in her fancy nightgown in a deserted hall, staring at her feet with unseeing eyes. A lone guard attempts to lead her away, but she'll not budge. It's not until she hears familiar heavy footsteps come towards her that she lifts her face.

'Lacroix? Shit- is that you?' Gabriel Reyes puts his hands on her shoulders and looks into her eyes. She doesn't reply. He looks at the blood on her hands and arms.

'Did you do it?'

'Yes.' She answers. It feels unreal. Like it didn't really happen.

'How do you feel?' The man seems unsure of what to do.

'I feel,' she starts, but can't decide on an answer. There's a lot of turmoil in her head, but it's buried, hidden, locked away where she can't access it.

'Come with me,' he grunts, pulling on her arm. He takes her down into the facility, into the research division, where he sits her on a stool. He disappears and then comes back, holding something that looks like the front of a helmet. He rests the cool metal on her head and lets the front slide over her eyes, resting it on the bridge of her nose. It clamps tightly around her temples. Then the machine turns on. She sees the room now -twice as clearly- through the closed visor. Immediately, her mind turns blank.

'How is that?' she hears him ask. 'How do you feel now?'

'Empty.'

He adjusts the visor once more, then steps back. 'Perfect.'


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am an idiot. I literally just found that Blizzard actually confirmed Fareeha still has all her limbs while for some reason I thought her having prosthethics was canon. I'll be retroactively fixing this in the previous chapters, but don't worry, it won't affect the flow of the story. My apologies for my dumb mistake! Gah. I'm so sorry.

Lena couldn't watch. She held Widowmaker's face until the sobs subsided, foreheads pressed against one another, her eyes tightly shut. She tried to breathe slowly, to somehow provide some comfort, but she felt nauseous and dizzy from guilt and could barely keep her breath from shivering. It was almost a relief when at last Widowmaker fainted, once the medicine had become fully active.

'Are you happy now?' Lena snapped, still supporting Widowmaker's shoulders as Pharah's grip slacked, 'are you satisfied, Angela?' She felt tears burning in her eyes, but refused to let them fall. She refused to show weakness after what she'd just done. She did not deserve to cry.

Mercy held her gun steady. She stared at Lena's grimacing face, her eyes sliding over her many bruises, the singed tips of her hair and the damage on her outfit. The fire in her heart doused, an older, more familiar feeling taking its place. Her face softened, somewhat, and then she nodded.

The silence filled the air around them. Lena took Pharah's half-relieved, half-surprised exhale as a sign to release the tension in her shoulders, slumping a little bit in the sludgy snow.

'We need to get back to the airship,' Fareeha said as she took back the lead, taking Widowmaker's dead weight off of Lena and decidedly ignoring the hushed 'please be careful- don't hurt her-' from the Brit.

'The others ought to be back by now,' she continued. She scanned the horizon for any signs of danger. Angela nodded again and gestured to the unconscious woman.

'Could you go ahead and take her? We'll follow on foot.'

'Will you be okay?' the other asked in reply, more aggressively than she'd probably intended. Lena noticed it in the way Fareeha flinched just slightly as she registered her own voice, and searched for any signs of change on Mercy's face.

'Yes, I'll be okay,' Angela managed to sound mildly reassuring, though still rather stiff. She watched for a moment as Fareeha picked Widowmaker up and took to the sky. Her eyes drifted downwards as she turned to Lena. She watched the girl tear her eyes away from Pharah's shrinking silhouette in the sky, shook out her shoulders and forced herself to be calm. She took a few hesitant steps, and then felt her gentle nature resurface. She dropped to one knee in front of Lena and put a hand on her shoulder.

'Lena,' she started, quiet though stern, 'there is something you should know.' Lena didn't tense under her touch, but did not look up either. Angela saw the grief in her face, and it echoed in her own heart.

'What is it?' Lena finally whispered.

'It's Genji,' Angela felt her throat run dry, and while the regret and pain had not disappeared, they were dulled, now a painful burn where at first they'd been unimaginable agony. 'I couldn't save him.'

Lena looked up, shocked. For a moment she was dumbstruck, and looked into Angela's eyes, searching for any sign that this was a test, or a cruel joke- or anything else. Yet she recognized that look on the doctor's face, the mask that hid so much pain, that hid the weight she bore when trying to save patients from the brink of death.

'Oh, Angie,' Lena whimpered, 'I'm so sorry...' She didn't know what else to say. What else there could be said. The last time she'd seen Genji suddenly weighed heavily on her, not fighting against him, but not with him, either.

'We've both done things that are.. hard to forgive,' Angela chose her words carefully, 'but we have to move on, somehow. You understand I'll have to thoroughly examine you again once we get back to base.'

'I understand, and I'll cooperate- Angie, I just want to go home.'

'You will be placed in custody again.'

'Can I request something?' Lena asked, her brown eyes wide, her voice thin and timid. Angela nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

'Start your examination with this thing,' Lena gingerly touched the chronal accelerator on her chest, 'there's stuff in there that wasn't there before. It's also on a timer, if I don't get back to a Talon base within seven days, it shuts down.' She tried to count the days in her head, but everything had blurred together. 'I don't know how much time I have left, and if I disappear, everything will have been in vain.'

'I see,' Angela's eyes lowered to the glowing device on Lena's chest. It felt good to have a clear culprit, something to hate that didn't make her feel dead inside. She could hate the device, blame it for everything she'd been through. 'We'll start with that, then.'

'Thank you,' Lena exhaled through her nose, sighing in relief.

'There is one more question I must ask you,' Angela chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. 'What is there between you and Widowmaker?'

The question gave Lena pause. What _was_ there between them? She felt the weight of this question, the importance of her answer. She couldn't lie.

'Well,' Lena stammered, eyes diverting, looking anywhere but Angela's piercing gaze, 'Winston told me to get close to her-'

'I know that part. What else?'

'Oh- well, then, look, I don't really know, okay?' Lena bit her lip, hard. 'Angie, there is something still in her.  _Someone_. She's not just a coldblooded killer. There's a _person_ in there and I almost got her out- except- except I just..' Lena couldn't continue, she heaved and balled her shaking hands into fists, trying to force herself to stay calm. The guilt was like a noose around her neck, constricting, choking her. It burned and twisted and made her vision blur. She clamped her eyes shut, curling into a ball, until she felt a warmth against her cheek. A hand petted her hair, and a soft voice hushed her.

'…Angie?'

'It's alright, Lena, it's alright. You did good.' Angela embraced her gently, a gesture so strangely familiar and at the same time completely out of place.

'Okay,' Lena sobbed, 'okay, if you say so.'

'Let's go. Fareeha will be waiting for us.' 

 

Reaper sears over the snow, an image more ghostly than human. He's seen the tracks, still clearly visible in the snow, and separated from his teams. He hears them chatter over the comm. As they spread out, close behind, constantly keeping watch.

'Chronal accelerator bug detected,' a voice says, 'heading in our current direction.'

Reaper grunts under his breath. Just perfect. His little project running home at the first opportunity – perhaps he'd been a little optimistic about her will to live. However, that was not his first concern right now.

'What about Widowmaker?' he grunted into the comm.

'No signal, sir.'

Useless, the lot of them. He'd take out the entire Overwatch team by himself if he had to. And by the gods, he _wanted_ to do just that. He sped forward, following the tracks to where he assumed the Overwatch airship to be, swerving between trees. He knew these tracks. The big, lumpy tracks of the monkey did not concern him. It were the sleek, confident tracks that caught his eye. A man he'd long thought dead. This had just gotten interesting. Reaper forced himself forwards, quicker, quicker still, until he felt his being fraying at the edges, a trail of dark smoke feathering behind him.

He saw the silhouette of his nemesis at the same moment the man noticed his presence. Reaper felt himself swell with the adrenaline; he'd waited for this moment for so long. Taunting and threatening, he circled around Morrison, taking in everything the man had become. From the weathered leather to the short hair to the visor on his face; Reaper despised every detail. So he took his time, found his angle, and pounced.

Fighting Morrison was elation. He knew the man would be his equal match and that made the fight such a thrill. Every move was countered, used against him, and vice versa. He knew every strategy, every move Morrison could pull on him. It would feel so good to finally bring him down.

The monkey was a nuisance, but none he couldn't deal with. He managed to get them both at gunpoint, a breath between the hectic fighting.

'You have something of mine,' Reaper growled, voice low from exertion. Morrison tightened his grip around his gun.

'Here to save your damsel in distress? How unlike you, Reyes.' Morrison had the audacity to chuckle. 'You're outnumbered. Surrender.'

'You're a fool, _Jack_ ,' Reaper drew out the sound of his name menacingly, 'you already made the mistake of thinking I worked alone once- and here you are, doing it again.' As if on cue, the black-garbed Talon soldiers appeared between the trees. A shout of 'push them together!' made Morrison turn, and he saw Tracer and Mercy, slowly walking backwards with both their guns raised. He gritted his teeth.

'You're a snake,' he spat. Reaper laughed at him.

'So let's talk, shall we?' he heard the smugness in his own voice. The group of Overwatch agents was driven close together as the soldiers surrounded them.

'Don't make me laugh, Reyes. You actually want to negotiate for your sick experiment? Was she that expensive?'

'You talk too much, Morrison,' Reaper snapped, threateningly stepping forward, both of his guns aimed at his former friend. 'It's not like you'll make it out alive. Give me Lacroix, and I'll let your cute little doctor go.' He gestured at Mercy with his chin, then his gaze stopped to rest on Tracer.

'As for you,' he spoke to her, considerably lowering his voice, 'I hope you enjoy spending eternity outside of this timeline.'

'You're a monster! You were the monster all this time!' Lena cried, struggling against Winston's big hand that tried to keep her from physically assaulting Reaper. 'Are you the one that did this to her? Are you?'

'You're an ignorant brat. So what'll it be, Jack?' Reaper barely even looked at Tracer before he turned back to Morrison.

'Don't even think about it,' Mercy stepped in. She looked at Reaper, ice in her gaze, venom dripping from her tongue. 'You might be the one person I regret saving.'

'Fine.' Reaper shrugged, pretending to mind this outcome. 'Then you'll all die-'

Suddenly, like lightning through clear weather, a barrage of rockets rained from the sky, onto the distracted Talon soldiers. It created a panicked chaos, people trying to dodge out of the way, crawling and climbing over one another. Reaper cursed loudly, shooting in every direction, desperate to hit at least Morrison. He saw the flash of white hair and red light through the smoke and chaos, and within a moment was upon him. Not far from him, Winston shielded the doctor to lead her out of the fray. A flash of blue light indicated Tracer moving out of the way. Another foul curse. But then his elbow hit Morrison's jaw and he knew he'd at least get this satisfaction.

 

'Move, move!' Pharah yelled as she touched down on the ground, boosting Lena forward and then turning to Winston. She took Mercy's hand and gestured for him to follow, which she did, after taking down a handful of Talon soldier with a forceful sweep of his hand.

'Go, I'll get Jack,' she ordered, and no one dared disobey. The ship was in sight, they just needed to make it. She fired again at the Talon soldiers, some of which had found their guns and started returning the fire, so she took again to the skies. It was hard to tell where her commander was in the jumble of fighting and smoke. Finally she saw a hint of red and fired wildly around it, and from the cries she heard, she assumed she hit more than once. The Raptora suit touched down and Morrison was still in close-combat battle with Reaper, bullets flying everywhere as the two circled each other at high speeds. She braced herself, then used her suit to dash forward, smashing Reaper out of the way with the side of her rocket launcher.

'Come on!' she cried, but Morrison protested.

'Go! Leave me here while you get out!' He panted, bullets following Reaper's every trail.

'No, I won't!' Pharah screamed over the sounds of battle. She saw Morrison open his mouth to protest, so she shot forward and grabbed his arm, dragging him away. 'I said: I. Will. Not!'

'After them!' Reaper's voice echoed between the trees. The time it took for the Talon agents to regroup was just enough for them to put substantial distance between them. Morrison finally let go and set into a sprint, occasionally turning to shoot behind him. Pharah flew close by. The aircraft had already powered up, the engines running. Mercy stood at the cargo hatch, waving to them, yelling something Pharah couldn't hear. As the aircraft started to ascend, Pharah dipped down, grabbing Morrison under his arms, and lifted him up, just enough to let his feet touch the closing cargo hatch. They tumbled inside, the latch closing just behind them. Not a second later, the plane was in the air, moving away from the battlefield.

 

'Everyone here?' Winston asked from the cockpit, more than a little concerned. Mercy strolled back, supporting a wounded Morrison around his waist. Pharah followed close behind, a proud little smile on her face. 'Everyone's here.'

Lena sat in a corner, trying to hold the unconscious Widowmaker, who would at times suddenly flail her limbs or whine loudly, and she'd tried to hush her, but it didn't do much. All she could do was try to keep her from hurting herself.

'Need some help with that?' Fareeha asked, producing a pair of handcuffs from a cabinet in the aircraft. 'We'll need to restrain her, anyway.'

'Ah, yes, well,' Lena started, while Fareeha held Widowmaker's wrists together and closed the handcuffs. 'Please, don't hurt her, let me help-' A sudden spasm through Widowmaker's body cuts her off as they both hold her down.

'Best to just let her lay on her side,' Fareeha says, genuinely trying to be helpful, 'so she won't injure you or herself. I'll ask Angela to take a look once she's done with yelling at Morrison.'

'Thank you,' Lena answered. It was weird to be around such familiar people again, being treated as if she was wanted, after all she'd been through. Fareeha's steps were light as she walked away, to the front of the aircraft, leaving Lena alone.

There was something, no, there were multiple things inherently wrong with this situation. Lena found herself sometimes momentarily forgetting the things she'd done, as she ran her fingers through Widowmaker's hair, as if she were merely sleeping. As if she'd wake up and smile that sultry little smile again, as if everything would be alright. She'd wonder how much damage would be done when she woke, if she'd be the same person at all. Lena felt dirty for touching her, for forcing this upon her and still taking care of her. It would be best to just turn away, to finish what she started when she decided to break Widowmaker's mind and heart, but she couldn't. She didn't want to leave her side. She desperately wanted to protect her, but how was she supposed to protect Widowmaker if she herself was the one harming her?

Angela's heels clicked hard on the airplane's metal floor. She was stone-faced as she approached, but she did not hesitate to kneel down next to Lena.

'Still out cold?' Angela asked, quickly checking pulse and temperature in Widowmaker's neck. She clicked her tongue as neither were anywhere close to acceptable standards.

'Yeah. She moves sometimes, and I think she tried to say a thing or two, but I couldn't make out what.'

'What did you inject her with, exactly?' Angela asked matter-of-factly, checking Widowmaker's pupil reflex. 

'A Talon medicine she carried with her,' Lena answered, trying to be as precise as she could. 'She took medication for her heartrate, to keep it slow, and she carried these vials with her. She told me by taking one it would simply make her calm and emotionless, and by taking two it would wipe her memory.'

'Hm,' Angela muttered, 'artificially induced retrograde amnesia. Interesting.

She'll be fine. Just confused, probably. She's having some sort of fever dreams, so it's best to just let her body deal with the medication. I'm not sure how else they altered her, so I'm not going to try anything.'

'Alright. Just wait it out?' Lena asked, just to be sure.

'Yes. It'll pass.' Angela stood up, and poured some water in a plastic cup. She handed the cup to Lena, as well as  a small pill. 'Here's something to help you sleep. You look like you need it.'

'Thank you. I'll take it in a few.'

Angela was gone as soon as she appeared, leaving Lena to her thoughts. She stroked Widowmaker's hair, repositioning it slightly so it wouldn't tug. She only now noticed what a large chunk of her ponytail had been lost in the fire. Such a shame. Widowmaker suddenly jerked against her bonds, hard, tugging the cuffs into the flesh of her wrists.

'Hush, Widowmaker,' Tracer tried to calm her, putting two fingers into the cup to wipe the cold water on Widowmaker's forehead. 'Mercy said it'll pass. You'll feel better.'

The woman went limp, and Tracer sighed deeply. Angela's right, she thought to herself, I'm positively exhausted. With a shrug, she took the pill and downed the rest of the water, lying down next to the other.

'It'll all get better,' she murmured against Widowmaker's shoulder, 'I promise, okay?'

 

The shoddy bunk in the Gibraltar base might have been the best bed Lena ever slept in. Or it might just have been the most tired she'd ever been. Whichever it was, Lena found herself nestled in a relatively soft and comfortably warm bed when she woke up, and it felt better than anything she'd experienced in the recent past. It took a couple minutes before reality sunk in to her happy world, and everything seemed a little duller than before. She sat up, noticing the distinctly new bandages. The ankle bracelet was back, which was no surprise, but still a bit of a disappointment. She didn't know this base very well, but she'd find her way around soon enough. She'd need to ask what her permitted wandering territory was as well, and otherwise she'd find out soon enough once the alarms started going off. Lena was at least glad she wasn't holed up in her own tiny apartment anymore. Thinking of that place felt strange, she imagined the dust would have gathered by now and there'd be dirty dishes in the sink and the remains of her last ankle bracelet on the floor-

Lena shook her head. There was a time for reminiscing, but it was not this time. She told herself, out loud, that she did the right thing- and then a couple times more to make sure she believed it. Her clothes were gone save her underwear, but there was a closet with a neatly stacked pile of towels next to a folded, old-fashioned Overwatch uniform. It was almost with a giddy giggle that Lena grabbed the towel and took a hot shower that lasted way too long. Washing off all the dirt and grime and soot was almost like it cleansed her inside and out. She felt lighter, more confident. More useful.

After she dried herself off, she shimmied herself into the navy uniform. The shirt buttoned up, so she could wiggle it under her accelerator. It was slightly big on her, but there was no mirror, so it'd just have to do. She drew a hand through her still damp hair and set out to find something to eat, and answer some questions.

 

Widowmaker opened her eyes to a sudden flash of artificial light. She lifted her head from the tiled floor, that was not particularly cold, but a pleasant room temperature, warm to Widowmaker's skin. She blinked in confusion as she looked around her unfamiliar surroundings. She was in a cubical room, slightly larger than her cell in the Talon base. The square, warm beige tiles ran up the walls to the sand-coloured ceiling. All walls were similar, except for one, which was made out of a thick, transparent acrylic. It reminded Widowmaker of an aquarium, except she was the fish on display. There was a door in the acrylic wall, made from the same transparent material, with sand-coloured borders, that made up the support. There was a slot in the door, which Widowmaker presumed to be for food trays. The hallway, which she could see through the transparent wall, was the same boring beige. No one seemed to be around. The lights has probably turned on automatically.

Widowmaker was lost. Not a panicked, mental lost but a physical lost. She didn't know this place. The door didn't budge. Her memories were a mess. She recognized the feeling of full wipe, and the annoying question that always lingered; why. Except after previous wipes she'd always been in a Talon research facility going through the same routine, answering the same questions, getting her visor checked and recalibrated. That reminded her- she didn't feel the familiar weight on her forehead- her visor was gone. Now that she noticed it, so were her own clothes. Instead, she was wearing what seemed to be baggy, taupe overalls. She tightened her ponytail, only to find half of it gone. She had cuts and bruises she didn't remember getting.

'Did I _fail_ a mission?' Widowmaker muttered to herself, sliding down the wall of the strange cell. 'What did I do?'

She tried to think back. She hated this part, it always made things more confusing. She tried to think back to the last thing she remembered doing clearly. There were vague fragments of memories, which she discarded. She had no use for half-filled in scenes in her mind, that would only lead to her imagination filling in the details. She needed something clear. Something real. And then it struck her.

A rooftop in London. That annoying brat pinned beneath her, and a point blank shot to the chest.

Ah yes, Widowmaker thought, with a smile on her lips. I killed Tracer.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter! Real life caught up with me. Thank you all for being patient!  
> This chapter features some of my favourite characters, so even though it was a difficult chapter, it was a joy to write. :)

'Just stay inside, alright? And keep out of trouble as much as you can. Captain Amari has been keeping a tight leash on …everyone.'

'Especially you?'

'I don't really want to talk about it,' Fareeha said, her tone stern but friendly. Lena nodded, and didn't press further. She had to walk fast to keep up with Fareeha's long strides. They'd walked around the facility, which was far bigger than Lena had anticipated. Apparently Overwatch had been regaining funds and backup here for quite some time, lead by the efforts of Jack Morrison. Jack, whom Lena had long presumed dead, but had now miraculously resurfaced. He'd refused to talk to her for long, and sort of unceremoniously ushered them both out of his office. It was still a little surreal to Lena.

'So, that's about it for the tour,' Fareeha finally concluded, just pointing in the general direction of the staff kitchen as a final detail. 'Like I said, don't test the rules, you'll do fine.'

'Alright,' Lena nodded. 'But there is one more thing I'd like to ask.'

'I reserve my right to withhold information from you, Oxton.' Fareeha crossed her arms, already sensing the imminent trouble. Lena was tired of waiting. She was full of energy and she leaped for it.

'Where's Widowmaker?' she asked, looking straight into Fareeha's eyes. It was only now that she noticed how tall the other woman actually was. But she felt refreshed and invigorated and she refused to be intimidated. Fareeha looked at her for a long moment, then sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

'For a second there you had me convinced you were going to follow my advice and _stay out of trouble_.'

'Please?' Lena added, hands wringing together. 'I just want to see if she woke up alright.'

'I could tell you that; because she woke up just fine.' Fareeha's mouth contorted in a displeased expression. If Lena kept up the puppy eyes, she'd not last long in this discussion.

'Fareeha, you were there,' Lena cast her eyes down, for a moment letting her sorrow shine through her energetic façade. 'How do you expect me to live with myself, if you won't even let me see her?'

'Fine,' Fareeha sighed, inwardly scolding herself for giving in so soon, 'but all responsibility is on you. I'll show you where she is, but that's all. You're not allowed in the cell and as soon as anyone tells you visitation hours are over, you'll have to go. Understood?'

'I understand. Thank you, Fareeha.' Lena smiled gratefully, slightly amused by Fareeha's overdramatic sigh as she turned on her heel.

 

Lena felt her hands tremble as she murmured a nervous goodbye to Fareeha, the heavy door closing behind her with a click. She'd been going over this moment in her mind, trying to think of something to say. There were many things she'd like to say, but none of it seemed particularly appropriate. Perhaps Widowmaker wouldn't even want to talk to her. Then she wouldn't need to speak. Maybe they'd never speak again.

That thought left a cold, empty feeling in Lena's heart. She didn't want to think about it.

The hallway seemed to be endless. Lena walked past the transparent walls that showed the inside of the cells to her right. With each step she'd crane her neck, expecting to see a huddled figure in the corner, broken, battered. The way her actions had left her. She'd be responsible for whatever state she found Widowmaker in, be it bad or worse. She reminded herself of her own situation: I just followed the plan. I needed her to be the monster they think she is, if this whole scheme is going to work out. I had no choice, did I?

'Enjoying the exhibit?' the sneer was clearly audible from the next cell. Lena stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. She could see the woman she'd been looking for, languidly leaning against the transparent wall, staring straight at her. She was idly picking at her nails, exerting an air of arrogance.

'There you are,' Lena breathed, approaching the glass. 'I was looking for you,' she added, before realizing how stupid it sounded.

'Can't go far within this-,' Widowmaker's sentence hitched in her throat as she looked up at Lena's face. ' _You.'_

Lena awkwardly wrung her hands, almost bit her tongue to prevent herself from answering something along the line of "Yep it's me". Widowmaker paced along the glass like a tiger circling her prey. Even without the bodysuit Lena could see the curves of her hips swaying.

'Well, well, well,' Widowmaker breathed against the glass, 'you really have trouble staying dead, don't you, _chérie?_ '

Lena swallowed thickly, looking straight into Widowmaker's golden eyes. She felt her heart beating in her chest, her legs swaying underneath her. She'd feared they'd end up back here. She tried to remember how much time they'd lost, but it was a blur. She felt the dark pit of disappointment in her stomach, the sour taste of it on her tongue.

'Why would I be dead?' Lena asked, defiantly stepping closer. She pushed away the glimmer of hope.

'Ah, well, that's,' Widowmaker seemed to hesitate, but her face never changed, 'just how I left you. It was a mess.'

'I see,' Lena felt her arms hang heavily from her shoulders, the temptation to just sag down and curl into a ball far too great. She couldn't help her grieving sigh as she looked at the captive, pacing back and forth, never breaking eye contact.

'Will you drop the act?' she finally muttered.

'What act _,_ my sweet?' Widowmaker immediately retaliated, pressing her elbows against the glass, dragging a shimmery trail down with her lips.

'All this,' Lena shrugged. She saw no signs of recognition on Widowmaker's face.

'If I do, will you let me out?'

'I can't let you out,' Lena sighed, 'though I wish I could.'

That made Widowmaker stop in her tracks. She straightened her back, let her arms drop to her sides.

'Why are you here?' She then asked, her voice low.

'I'm here for you,' Lena answered without thinking. That got her an eyeroll in response.

'Just to waste both of our time, then. How did you survive?'

'You have a lot of questions,' Lena laughed, feeling a little but smug, 'especially for someone who is not in any position to make demands.'

'Oh, and you are?' Widowmaker continued, completely unfazed. 'Last time I checked you were just a little scout, and a disabled one at that.' Widowmaker's mouth twitched in a small little smile as she sneered, 'What happened, did they promote you, Tracer?'

'Will you just call me Lena already?' Lena blurted out. Widowmaker stepped back from the glass, her eyes wide.

'That never happened,' she shook her head, averting her gaze. Lena jumped forward, both palms flat against the glass.

'It did happen!' Lena frantically tried to get closer, would have clawed through the glass if she could, 'Widowmaker, get back here. You have to remember!'  Lena tried very hard not to think about how she was giving in to her selfish desire, for Widowmaker to know what they'd once had. She knew it was wrong, it was completely wrong, and went against everything she'd worked and planned for, but her heart screamed in agony if she didn't.

'There's- there's nothing to remember. I don't know what you're on about.' Widowmaker turned away, eyes closed as she rubbed her temples.

'Please, tell me what you know,' Lena whined against the glass. She felt her lower lip tremble and bit it hard to make it stop. She didn't want to hope anymore. Didn't want to feel torn between her feelings and her mission. Widowmaker threw her hair back with a huff.

'Well, there's one thing I know; next time I'll kill you properly. You are getting on my nerves, girl.'

For a moment, it was quiet. Lena rested her forehead against the cool glass, frustration and disappointment boiling in her chest. Then she took a deep breath. Determination had always been the one force driving her on. She would not give up this time. She would not give up on Widowmaker.

'Fine,' she said, recollecting herself. 'Well, you're just going to have to put up with me because we are stuck together.' She lifted the hem of her overalls to show her ankle bracelet. Widowmaker's eyes gleamed a little when she saw it, but she didn't make a sound. 'So I'm going to sit down right here.'

'Oh, _voici l'Enfer_ ,' Widowmaker groaned as she stepped away from the transparent wall, crawling away in the corner as far away from Tracer as she could.

'And if you play nice,' Lena continued, pretending not to hear the woman's complaining, 'I'll answer some of your questions.'

'I'd rather die,' Widowmaker's voice came from the corner of the cell. Lena only smiled and made herself more comfortable.

'Give it time.'

 

Fareeha took a moment to gather her thoughts. She stood in front of the bland looking beige door, the only barrier between her and the meeting room. Frowning, she straightened her uniform out once more, fussing with it longer than necessary. She was stalling, and she hated to admit it. Sooner or later she'd have to get through that door. She wished it to be locked, but of course it wasn't. With an almost inaudible sigh, she took the handle and stepped inside.

The meeting room was mostly empty. An oval table, simple chairs. A coffee machine in one corner, a modest security camera screen in the other. On the far side of the room, she immediately noticed her mother's grey-white hair, braided neatly as always. She looked at the security camera, her hand loosely around a steaming mug of tea. Fareeha's stomach clenched painfully.

'Mother,' she gave a stiff greeting. Ana turned to her with a warm smile.

'Fareeha, my dear,' she gestured at the seat next to her, 'sit with me.'

Fareeha obliged. Her feet felt heavy and clumsy as she approached, and once she sat down, she didn't know what to do with her hands. She put her palms flat down on the table, then realized it looked awkward, but didn't dare move them. Ana didn't seem to mind, for she grasped one of Fareeha's stiff hands and squeezed it tenderly.

'I see you far too little, and when I do, you don't say much, either. How are you really doing, Fareeha?' She kept her daughter's hand firmly between her own.

'I'm,' Fareeha hesitated, 'I'm fine, mom. Really.'

'Oh, you're too much like me,' Ana smiled, 'always wanting to shoulder everything by yourself.'

'Well, you can't blame me then, now can you?' Fareeha found the corners of her mouth tugging into a little smile, and saw it reflected in her mother's face. She was right, they were alike, even if she didn't want to admit it.

'Hmm, I suppose so.' Ana took a sip of tea. 'So, do you have a boyfriend yet?'

'Mother!' Fareeha exclaimed. She sputtered some incoherent words before collecting herself, beet red in the face. 'Mother, I'm 32, even if I did I wouldn't have to-'

'Nonsense!' Ana waved away her words, 'I am your mother, I wish to know every single detail. So, what's his name?'

'I told you, I _don't_ _have a-_ '

'How long are you going to keep this up, dear?'

'Look, it's complicated, okay?' Fareeha snapped, and immediately regretted it. Ana was completely unfazed however, and simply took another sip of her tea. Fareeha recognized the grin on her face, that indicated that her mother had won. She rolled her eyes and then buried her face in her hands, trying to force her heated cheeks to cool down. Ana gave her a moment to recollect herself. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with genuine concern.

'What's the problem? Is he married?'

'No, I think she just doesn't feel about me that way,' Fareeha sighed. When no reply came, she suddenly realized what she'd said. She shot upright, eyes widened in fear. Ana slowly, deliberately set her tea down. Fareeha felt her heart beat in her throat, stretching out the silence between them.

'So,' Ana repositioned her mug in her hand, and pursed her lips, 'dating her didn't work out?'

'T-that's it?' Fareeha feared she looked like a fish, her mouth opening and closing as she looked for the right words. 'That's all you're going to say about it?'

Ana thought about that for a moment. Then she shrugged, and nodded. 'Yes, that's all.'

'Oh,' Fareeha replied quietly, letting out a long breath. 'Thank you.'

'So did seducing her not work? I mean, honestly, who could resist that pretty little face of yours?' Ana chuckled over her tea as she watched her daughter jump right back into affronted-embarrassment-mode. 'Not to mention those tight-

'Mom, that's quite enough!' Fareeha pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried not to laugh. Once she'd calmed down, she looked back at her mother. 'Seriously though, it's just not going to work out. She just lost her- her boyfriend, and I'm just…'

'She what?'

Fareeha watched her mother as the pieces fell together in her mind. Ana gave her a look that she reserved only for her child, a look that expressed deep understanding, but also concern and disapproval. The complex balance of wanting to be supportive while wanting the best for her only daughter.

'Oh, my dear, what are you getting yourself into?' Ana grasped Fareeha's hand once more, urging her to meet her gaze. 'Angela? Really?'

'That's why,' Fareeha conceded, her face falling, 'I told you it is complicated.'

Ana petted her hair, then lowered her hands, cupping her daughter's cheek with both hands. She carefully traced Fareeha's cheekbones with her thumbs, her eyes glistening a little.

'You're my treasure, my daughter,' she said, almost hiding the way her voice choked, 'and I'm so proud of you. You don't need to carry all these burdens yourself, you hear? You can always come to me for help.'

'Thank you,' Fareeha nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. Her voice was more hoarse than she'd liked to admit. Then she lifted her arms and slid them around her mother's neck. Ana naturally pulled her close, held her as Fareeha fell into her embrace. Warm breath against her neck, Ana smiled against her daughter's crown.

 

'Am I interrupting anything?' Morrison's gruff voice sounded as he closed the door behind him. Fareeha almost jumped up and out of her chair, if not for her mother holding her gently, but firmly, down.

'Just family time, but you're welcome to join in,' Ana smiled at him. She got a throaty chuckle in response.

'I might just take you up on that offer.' The humor in his voice was dimmed for his lack of expression.  

The door creaked again and Winston stepped in, closely followed by Angela. As she entered, Ana nudged her daughter in the side with a very obvious "there she is"-look on her face, which earned her a kick under the table and a hiss from Fareeha.

'Everyone here?' Morrison threw a rolled up newspaper on the table, 'cause I've got news.'

'Oh, did they run the article?' Ana seemed pleasantly surprised.

'What article?' Angela asked as she sat down, a little irritated at being left out of the loop. 'And we're not all here. Where's Tracer?' 

'We decided to let her figure out her own problems for the time being,' Winston supplied. 'She's got more than enough on her plate.'

'You got a visual on her, Ana?' Morrison asked, bending over the table to see the screen next to Ana. She pressed a button on the monitor, showing different sites of the Overwatch facility. Finally the screen flickered to a grainy image of the cellblock. They could see the long hallway, the sides of the cells. Lena sat leaned against one of them, her back turned towards the camera. Morrison made a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue.

'How long's she been there?'

'Quite a while.' Ana sighed. She didn't add anything else to break the silence after her words.

'Let her figure it out,' Winston grumbled in a deep voice. 'She's been through hell and back. I don't blame her for being confused. She'll be back on the right track soon enough.'

'And how soon is that?' Morrison unfolded the newspaper to show them the headline: _Assassin arrested - Notorious threat "Widowmaker" finally seized._ 'Because I'm going to need her to make a public statement.'

'Whoa, whoa,' Fareeha interjected. 'Take it down a notch. Did you already go through with all this? I mean, we discussed it before but I,' she bit her lip, holding in her words.

'Jack,' Winston pulled the newspaper towards him, scanning the article with his eyes, 'I can't believe you already went this far! Public execution? Are you _insane_?'

'Actually, two of the executives on the board had lost someone to Widowmaker,' Jack crossed his arms and shrugged, 'they were quite keen on the idea. Set an example, so to speak.'

'An example of what?' Fareeha slammed her palm down on her table. 'Barbarism? Manslaughter? What good will more murder do?'

'You will calm down, Amari, or you will remove yourself from the conversation!' Morrison snapped back. Fareeha slunk back down into her seat. She sought Angela's eyes, but the doctor stared hard at her clenched fists on the table. A moment of silence fell over the group.

'Personal morals and grudges aside,' Ana then spoke, slowly, meticulously choosing her words, 'Widowmaker is only alive by the grace of your mercy. By all means - had the circumstances been any other than they were, she would've been shot on sight back in Sweden.' She paused for a moment to let her words sink in. Jack nodded in agreement, Winston sighed deeply.

'And if I know Widowmaker, and trust me, I do-' Ana continued, looking around at the group, 'she won't care about the when and where. So excuse me for agreeing with Jack, we should make the most of her... passing away.'

'This is not what I agreed upon with Lena,' Winston calmly replied. 'When I hatched this plan, to get Overwatch back with Widowmaker as leverage, we never thought it would escalate like this. Widowmaker getting killed in a fair fight? That's what we do. But executing her? Publicly? Is this really the message we want to be carrying out?'

'You're focusing on the wrong detail.' Jack then said. He sat back, a lot less aggressive now. 'Of course it's barbaric. It's supposed to be. We're on the verge of a new Omnic Crisis, people are desperate. Playing by the rules won't work if no one else does. This capture already got us the finances to get most of our communications back up and running, our resources restocked. This was all about Lena's life from the beginning, wasn't it?' Jack turned his head to look at Winston, an eerie glimmer sliding over his visor. 'Did I not deliver?'

'You did,' Winston sighed, 'but that doesn't make your methods right.' Angela tapped his arm with a questioning look. He smiled at her and answered her unasked question, 'Morrison got me a working lab. Lena's replacement accelerator is only a few tests away from being ready for installation.'

'That's wonderful,' Angela smiled at him, 'finally some good news.'

'Angela,' Fareeha tried carefully, ignoring Morrison's glare, 'you were very much in favor of this punishment the last time. Is that still how you feel?'

'No,' Angela shook her head, then straightened her back, 'but the plan has been set in motion, so I'll do whatever is required of me.'

'Good,' Morrison nodded. Ana took another long sip of her tea. 'So, run me through this,' she then said, glancing once more at the security camera, at Lena's unmoving form. 'What happens now, Jack?'

'This article is only the beginning,' Jack explained, something like a dark form of excitement in his voice. 'It will ignite the spark, remind people of the crimes Talon has committed over the years. Next, Tracer will make a public statement about her hardships, her victimization by Widowmaker - basically, fuel that spark into a wildfire of hate. She's got the face for it, innocent enough to be the hero, and the people have loved her since the beginning.' He let his words sink in, and folded his hands. 'The people will unite behind her instantly. And the support of the people is vital if Overwatch is to be reinstated. That will become our leverage, until the people and governments alike will cry out to put us back in business.'

'And then?' Ana asked, mirroring his businesslike demeanor.

'Widowmaker's execution is simply a sealing of the contract. We quench the people's blood thirst by taking revenge. It's a promise to rid the world of these criminals, one by one if we have to. If we play our cards right, Overwatch will be more efficient, more powerful than it's ever been.'

Once again, silence filled the room. Winston rubbed his temples, Angela stared at her hands once more. Jack and Ana exchanged dark, bitter looks. Fareeha looked like she wanted to speak, but kept her mouth shut.

'You do love your leverage, don't you, Jack?' Ana said, as she stood up, and got some water from the coffee machine. She picked up the cup and set it in front of Angela before giving her shoulders a friendly squeeze. 'You're making an awful lot of assumptions. What if Lena refuses to be the hero of your beautifully crafted story? She seems rather fond of Lacroix.' Morrison answered with a deep, bellowing laugh.

'You know me too well, Ana dear,' he said, and then gestured towards Winston, 'but for once, Talon played right into our hands. Tracer is on a timer. If she doesn't cooperate, I won't authorize the replacing of her chronal accelerator.'

'What?' Fareeha hissed incredulously. This time, no one chastised her. Winston immediately fell into line with her.

'Morrison, you can't be serious. You're condemning that girl to a fate worse than death.'

'You two,' Morrison glared first at Fareeha, then at Winston, 'are young and naive. The time of heroes is over. Now, we trade a bigger evil for a lesser one, to make the world a slightly less fucked-up place.'

'I wonder who is really getting the short end of the stick here,' Angela spoke softly. 'Widowmaker won't have to live with this. Genji won't have to see us sink to this level. Where does that leave us?'

'That leaves us on the side that executes their enemies and blackmails their allies,' Fareeha muttered, nails digging into the skin of her palm as she furiously clenched her fists, 'while Reaper risked his life trying to rescue one of his own.'

 

'Do I not get a phonecall? Don't prisoners usually get one phonecall?'

'You're the criminal here, you ought to know, love.'

'Well, here's the thing- I don't usually get captured.' Widowmaker hadn't been able to sit still in her corner for long. Soon she'd started pacing around the cell again, restlessly moving back and forth.

'Who'd ya call?' Lena mused.

'That's none of your concern,' Widowmaker snapped back. Lena only laughed.

'Of course it is, you made it my concern by asking,' she said, turning her head to look at the pacing woman, 'is it Reaper?'

'Your intelligence on me is quite extensive,' Widowmaker remarked, obviously a little unnerved. Lena's grin grew a little wider.

'Oh, you haven't even scratched the surface of my intelligence on you.'

'Impress me, then.'

'You have,' Lena started, but then wondered where she'd begin, 'a habit of counting your shots as you line them up.' She started counting out the facts on her fingers. 'You claim to need coffee in the morning to function, but you drink it with a whole lotta milk. Oh, you share a newspaper with Reaper, but you only read the obituaries.' She smirked when she heard Widowmaker pause her frantic pacing, could practically feel her stare burning into the back of her head. 'You hum when you're relaxed. You still wear your husband's ring under your glove. You like to wear perfume on missions and you have a bite mark scar on your inner thigh.'

Widowmaker didn't respond. Lena slightly turned, showing her smug grin to her captive. She took the moment to appreciate the way Widowmaker's nose scrunched up in indignation, the way her eyebrows raised and her eyes narrowed.

'Impressed?'

'That scar is a _bite mark_? What, _how?!_ ' The assassin hissed.

'I told you,' Lena giggled darkly, 'play nice, and I'll answer all those questions.'

 

'Winston, one more thing,' Morrison slightly raised his voice as he closed the door of the meeting room behind him, falling into step with the scientist. 'I need you to make an addition to the chronal accelerator.'

'What kind of addition? Lena's abilities have already been calibrated to get the best performance for as long as possible before needing a recharge.' Winston explained, gesturing with his hands. Morrison shook his head.

'I'm not talking about abilities.' He dropped his voice an octave lower. 'The girl is a loose projectile. I need a failsafe, to control her with. Until things get less heated.'

'Such as?' Winston dangerously narrowed his eyes. He didn't want to look his former boss in the face.

'Something to control her temper. Get those emotional impulses under control.'

'Complicated,' Winston said, but then raised his eyebrows, 'but perhaps doable.'

'And I need an emergency backup plan. A remote shutdown.' Morrison didn't even flinch as the words left his mouth. Winston stopped in his tracks.

'Jack,' his deep voice dropped to a low growl, 'I have nothing but respect for you. Do not tarnish that respect with these barbaric requests. I refuse.'

Morrison shook his head slowly, disdainfully clicking his tongue. His voice became a little quieter, laced with complacent amusement.  

'I was afraid you'd say that.'


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was the final chapter but it got too long so I ended up splitting it in parts.  
> (I just had to add Sombra in for a tiny cameo. She's too cute.)

The sounds were all too loud. The footsteps, barked orders, metal doors slamming shut, ringing painfully through his head. Gabriel stalked through the hallways of his home base, clutching his left shoulder. He'd clutch every single part of his seared, bruised body if he could. He felt wispy at the edges, like he became more ghostly with every step. With a grunt, he rounded the corner, quickly pouring himself some coffee before flopping down onto his usual chair in the kitchen.

A newspaper lay innocently folded on the table. Gabriel pulled it towards himself, thumbing through the pages out of sheer habit, pulling out the obituaries. As he set the page down, he realized no one would be joining him today. A bitter taste that had nothing to do with coffee washed through his mouth.

Suddenly the base seemed too quiet instead of too loud. He let his eyes wander, over his own scarred hands, the mug in front of him. He avoided the empty chair with his eyes, inwardly scolding himself. For being sentimental, for getting _attached_. It was irrational, impractical. Unlike him.

But he'd set out two mugs for coffee without even noticing and it seemed alien to read the newspaper by himself.

He set down his mask to rub his face, it's not like anyone would enter the room anyway. The thought hit him harder than he wanted to admit to himself, so he tried to set it out of his mind. Every time he did, the quietness of her absence brought it right back. He craved a distraction, something _normal_. Something right.

Sighing, he folded open the paper. The headline bleared at him, as if it was written in bright neon letters. "Widowmaker finally seized", he read, and his vision turned red. Gabriel felt his heart tighten in fury, the world completely still for one moment. The mug creaked in his grip before he smashed it against the wall, with a deafening, inhumane roar. He watched the brown liquid seep down, and imagined it was blood. It was strangely satisfying.

‘Tsk, you haven’t changed one bit,’ Sombra remarked as she strolled in, completely unfazed by Reaper’s behavior. He almost jumped in surprise at her voice coming from the door. Instead, he jerked towards her and growled deep in his throat.

‘Sombra. Where the hell have you been?’

‘Russia,’ she waved away the commentary, obviously not planning to explain herself further. ‘But I heard some interesting noise coming from our homebase, so I returned. What do you think you have you been doing, _pendejo_?’

‘Something foolish,’ Gabriel grunted, slouching forward. His legs spread, elbows resting on his knees and his head held low, he looked more vulnerable than he’d ever admit.

‘And now you lost your girl,’ Sombra scolded him with somewhat of a smirk when he narrowed his eyes at her, ‘Don’t answer that. Lucky for you - you’ve still got me.’

‘Just tell me what you have and what you want for it,’ Gabriel snapped, clenching his fists until his knuckles shone white. That was apparently exactly what Sombra had wanted to hear, because she pulled a chair closer and spun it to face the man before her. As she sat down, she elegantly waved her right hand through the air, making several images appear around them. There were maps, several documents and a still frame of a security footage tape.

‘Say, hypothetically of course, that I knew where they are keeping her, and that you better hurry there, _amigo,_ because while you are drinking coffee Overwatch isn’t sitting exactly still – what do you think would be a good price for such information?’ Her voice was sugary sweet but her eyes glinted maliciously. Gabriel knew he’d lost before he’d even started.

‘Tell me what you need,’ he sighed.

‘I just need access to your computer. Let me borrow the key to your office for a little while.’ She had the audacity to bat her eyelashes at him. Gabriel couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it.

‘Consider it done.’

‘Great!’ Sombra’s smile grew even wider. ‘Now, let me just enlarge this map for you, and I’ll tell you everything I know.’

 

Angela tapped the door quietly, before pushing the handle and letting herself in. She didn't need to wait for an invitation. She rarely did.

'Winston, dear- are you still working?'

'I am,' came the deep voice from the gorilla, bent over a desk, 'but I was hoping you'd stop by.' He pushed his glasses back up his nose, but didn't wear his trademark grin.

'Good thing I'm here then,' Angela half-joked. She could feel the tension in the room. 'How is progress?'

'Good, good,' Winston muttered, putting away two different screwdrivers and laying his other tools back in order, 'if it weren't for Jack's extra orders, I'd be done already...'

He'd managed to start on the subject, but neither seemed very keen on pursuing it. Angela had felt the same anxiety, and hadn't known who to go to. She was secretly glad it wasn't just her.

'I'm worried about Jack,' she finally said, and pulled up a chair to sit on the opposite side of the desk. She let her fingertips run carefully over the rim of the shiny, spotless, new chronal accelerator that Winston had been working on. Hesitantly, Angela continued. 'I feel like he has... lost sight of our goals.'

'He has done so much to get Overwatch back. I think he means well, in his heart, but...' Winston sat down, and took off his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. 'I can't imagine what he's been through. And even that's not an excuse.'

'What did he ask you to do to Lena's accelerator?' Angela asked, though the cold pit in her stomach told her she feared the answer.

'It's more a shackle now,' Winston replied. His eyes turned sad as his gaze slid over his work. 'I built in a module to keep her, how should I put this? Keep her calm.'

'I don't want the sugarcoated version, Winston.' Angela said harshly. She emphasized her words by tapping the metal of accelerator with her nails.

'It will subdue every emotion she has. Temporarily, until the module is turned off. It's reversible.'

A long silence stretched between them. Angela looked at him with narrowed eyes, chewing the inside of her cheek furiously.

'Angela, I know what you're thinking,' Winston leant forward to grasp her hand, but she slapped him away.

'I want no part of this,' she snapped, harshly turning her head away. 'Did Jack truly tell you to build this? After everything that happened?'

'He did, yes,' Winston started. Before he could continue, Angela hissed between her teeth, 'and you _agreed?_ '

'Of course not!' He forcefully resisted the urge to slam his giant hand down on the desk. 'Do you think this is what I wanted for Lena? Do you think _this_ is what I had in mind?' He threw her a small, black remote. Angela clumsily caught it between outstretched fingers.

'What is this..?' she whispered, as she turned the device over to inspect it.

'The prototype for a remote shutdown of the accelerator. A- a killswitch. I haven't connected it, so it doesn't work, and I intend to leave it that way.' Winston had a dark expression on his face, lingering somewhere between grief and resentment.

 'Did Jack-'

'He _ordered me to._ '

Angela's shoulders slumped, and she put the remote on the table, setting it down carefully with an expression of disgust on her face. They sat in silence, both pondering the hopelessness of the situation.

'I got a letter,' Angela finally said. 'From Zenyatta.'

Winston waited for her to continue. He watched the doctor fiddle with her jacket, part her lips to speak, make a choked sound, and try again.

'Basically, he advised me to get out of here,' she finally managed to say. 'He wants me to visit him, to find peace- to heal.'

'Angela,' Winston started, a deep concern in his voice. She immediately talked over him, gesturing wildly with her hands.  

'I figured, that he helped Genji as well, and he might, you know, be able to help me and it was an important place to Genji too and-'

'Angela.' Winston repeated, more demanding. She closed her mouth with a guilty look in her eyes. 'You're thinking about running away?'

'Yes,' she admitted, 'more than anything. I want to get away from all of this, Winston. From everything.'

'What about Lena?' Winston was genuinely shocked.

'She's got you,' Angela replied decidedly. Winston shook his head slowly.

'What about Fareeha?' He didn't expect the aggravated click of Angela's tongue he got in response.

'Fareeha is more than capable of taking care of herself, Winston.' Angela retorted, feeling her anger recede as quickly as it had appeared. She looked at her friend, at the machine in front of him, and felt the guilt heavy on her shoulders. 'Actually, I wanted to ask her to come along with me. She's unhappy here as well.'

'That would be a good idea,' Winston agreed, to Angela's surprise. 'But without you two, Lena is up against a formidable set of adversaries. Some of them in her own home. Her fate just became a lot more uncertain.'

'She sealed her own fate when she got involved with Widowmaker.' Angela spat, unable to hide the sudden surge of resentment.

'Like all of us, I suppose,' Winston sighed in reply.

Angela's shoulders stiffened, then she slumped, and burst into tears.

 

It was like the glass was warmer when her back leaned against it on the other side, Lena mused. It couldn't make that much of a difference, with Widowmaker's low body temperature, but somehow the idea of her leaning against the same patch of acrylic made her feel warm, from her spinal cord to her accelerator.

She leaned her head to the side, brown hair pressed against the barrier, and saw the side of Widowmaker's face. She had her eyes closed, and that relaxed smile on her lips, the peaceful expression she rarely showed. It made Lena's heart beat a little faster.

'You're beautiful, you know that?' She murmured.

'Ah, merci.' Widowmaker answered, her voice barely more than a whisper. No quips, no insults. Just the quiet familiarity of their presence. Lena imagined she could hear Widowmaker's slow breaths, could see her chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale.

'Say, Tracer,' Widowmaker started, overthinking her words. The Brit interrupted her with amusement lacing her voice.

'It's _Lena._ '

‘ _Tracer_ ,' Widowmaker insisted, chuckling low in her throat. 'Say. If you could go back in time, I mean truly go back in time, what would you do differently?'

Lena kept quiet as she thought. She turned her head to the side again, to notice Widowmaker had her eyes half-lidded now, and met her patient gaze. There was something else in her features, too- curiosity. Hesitation.

'Well, here's the thing, love,' Lena sighed, fiddling with the zipper of her uniform. 'I've got a curious relationship with time. I've seen a thousand ways this could've played out. I'm,' she swallowed a thick lump in her throat, 'actually kind of glad things are set in stone now. The past is in the past. We've still got the future. In front of us. Not all around us, mixed with the past, blending in when everything is present and time does not exist-'

'What are you on about?' Widowmaker asked, friendly, not accusing. It made Lena snap out of her reel of memories.

'Nothing. I just,' Lena shook her head, feeling stupid, 'I got lost in time once. I'd like to not do it again.'

'Ah,' Widowmaker answered. Lena heard the rustle of her shifting to a more comfortable position. 'So you wouldn't change anything?'

'If there was no risk in changing anything, sure.' Lena laughed, despite her fear, 'But there's no such thing. I'd rather make the best of the now, especially since I'm anchored safely in the present.'

'Are you, though? How many days has it been?' Widowmaker's voice had turned flat. Lena stiffened, her eyes growing wide. She jumped to turn around, pressing her palms against the glass.

'Widowmaker, you're-' Lena gasped, 'you're _not supposed to know that_.'

'Ah, so it's true,' Blue lips curving into a grin.

'Don't toy with me, Widowmaker! What do you know?' Lena cried out as she hit the acrylic wall with the palm of her hand, hard. She could feel the pain arching up her forearm.

'I heard your guard talking. The one with the tattoo on her face.' Widowmaker smirked.

'Oh,' Lena said, unable to hide her disappointment. She let her hand slide down the glass, and saw it land near Widowmaker's own. When she looked up, she met the woman's golden eyes.

'Tracer,' Widowmaker said, her voice serious, 'I need to know for certain. Are you on my side or not?'

'I am,' Lena said, and felt a pressure lift off her shoulders. She was certain. Nothing else mattered, not right now. 'I have a debt to you, Widowmaker. In time, I'll tell you about it.'

Widowmaker only smiled, and gestured for Lena to come closer. She pressed her lips almost against the glass as she whispered, 'I'm going to get out of here. But I need your help.’

Lena’s eyes widened, and she checked the hallway to make sure no one else was listening before she leaned closer. ‘How? When?’

‘Tomorrow they’re taking me out for a trial of some sort. It’s the perfect moment. This cell is almost impossible to get out of without any tools, but somewhere in a public place would be ideal.’

‘A trial of some sort? So is it a trial or not?’ Lena hissed, already confused.

‘I don’t know. Tattoo-guard was pretty vague about it. She doesn’t seem very confident,’ Widowmaker shrugged.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Lena asked, trying to keep her voice low. She felt her heart beat heavy in her chest.

‘I cannot say for certain,’ Widowmaker bit her lip for a moment, ‘but it might be the only chance I’ve got. I need to find the right moment to create a distraction. If we both start causing mayhem at the same time, we might just have enough time to escape.’

‘That’s a whole lotta uncertainty, love,’ Lena sighed, ‘what if it doesn’t work?’

‘I’m going to die here anyway, Tracer,’ Widowmaker said matter-of-factly, cold enough for Lena to momentarily pull back. ‘I could wait here for that to happen, or I could grasp the only chance I have.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Lena sighed. She hadn’t been told anything about what was to happen to Widowmaker. On one hand she felt slightly left out, on the other she was glad that the details of the plan were being decided without her. She’d noticed the look on Angela’s face every time she came out of a meeting. It wasn’t good. ‘So what’s in it for me? How do I explain to them that I caused a distraction for you?’

‘Excuse me?’ Widowmaker asked, visibly confused. A second later, as she realized, she let out a curt laugh. ‘No, you goose. You’re not staying- I’m taking you with me. We’ll get your accelerator renewed and then you’re free to go.’

_‘Oh._ ’ Lena could only say. That changed everything. ‘But I can’t go back to Talon! I betrayed everyone!’

‘We’ll go together. Tell them you needed to keep up appearances. It doesn’t matter, Tracer. We’ll figure it out.’

‘I seriously doubt that,’ Lena tried to argue, but stopped when Widowmaker grinned and shook her head.

‘Then tell me, my sweet- why hasn’t your precious Overwatch replaced your accelerator yet?’

Lena's brows furrowed, but then she noticed the heavy footsteps approaching. Her head whipped to the side and she quickly sat back, putting some distance between herself and the glass.

'Commander Morrison,' she gasped, and scrambled to her feet to stand at attendance. Morrison approached with long strides, followed closely by Fareeha.

'At ease, Oxton. Winston requested you go see him. You'll be happy to hear what he has to say.' Morrison nodded curtly at her. Lena was still a bit abashed that this man, this ragged, vicious man, was the same Morrison as she'd known before everything went to hell. She wondered if he still saw the same starry-eyed Lena in her. Then she wondered if he remembered her at all.

'Hurry up, Lena.' Fareeha supplied, managing a friendly smile. 'Go.'

Lena felt a little queasy as she looked from one to the other as they stood in front of Widowmaker's cell.

'Alright,' she croaked, turning to Widowmaker, and lamely greeting her, ‘goodbye then.’

Behind her, she heard the others talk, their voices dying away as she left the hallway.

'Are you going to be difficult?'

'Yes.'

'Fine. Pharah, get her to listen, please...'

Lena bit her lip hard as she slammed the door behind her. She didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to feel the guilt of not standing up for her, not protecting her. She told herself again, you might only make it worse, and forced her heavy feet to take steps forward.

 

Winston looked up at the creaking of the door. For a moment, he locked eyes with Lena, before she broke into a big smile and ran towards him. He wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame as she hugged him.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ she beamed. He’d have felt much the same, if it weren’t for the pressure of what he was about to tell her weighing him down.

‘It’s good to see you smile again,’ he managed to answer. ‘How are you doing?’

Lena blew a sighing raspberry before answering. ‘I could use a holiday, I think.’

‘Amen to that,’ Winston laughed. He then gestured for her to follow as he took her towards the back of the lab. ‘Lena, please take a seat.’

She gingerly did as she was told. When she sat down and playfully swung her legs back and forth, he could almost see the unbroken Lena she’d been before.

‘Lena,’ he started, as he took off a plastic tarp from the table, revealing the new chronal accelerator. ‘I have good news and I have bad news. I think you deserve the truth, so I am going to put all my cards on the table. Please, listen carefully.’

‘Alright,’ she whispered. He saw the dread on her face, the fear that she’d be slung into another series of horrible events. He wished he could take that dread way completely.

‘Well, let me start with the good news: I’ve got your new chronal accelerator right here.’ He took a deep breath. Lena’s expression turned sad.

‘The accelerator is also the bad news, isn’t it?’ She looked at the machine with a mixed expression mixed of disgust and suspicion.

‘It is. Or rather, what I had to add to it.’ He brought up a screen specifying every function the new accelerator had. ‘I tried to make it as much as your old one as possible, and tried improve it wherever I could. That, while not exactly easy, was not so much the problem.’

‘Just,’ Lena stammered, ‘please just spit it out. I can’t take it when you drag it out like this.’

‘Fine. I made an addition to the accelerator, Lena. As per Morrison’s… adamant request.’ He swallowed his anger for now. He first needed to assess Lena’s reaction. ‘He requested two new functions: a emotional stabilizer and a remote killswitch. Please believe me when I tell you I didn’t want to incorporate either. At. All.’

‘A killswitch?!’ Lena gasped, ‘What for?!’

‘I am assuming to strengthen the hold he has on all of us. Lena, I did not build the killswitch.’

‘But, what- wait. Why would you even tell me, then?’ Lena held her head in her hands, her shoulders trembling as she tried to keep her composure. Winston wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, he wanted to console her, but he needed to make sure she knew the facts first.

‘Because I did build a dummy remote. I doesn’t function, but I don’t plan on telling Morrison that.’

They let that sink in. Lena took a deep breath.

‘And the other- the other thing?’ She asked timidly.

‘There was no way I could fake this, unfortunately. There’s a module in there that allows the holder of the remote to initiate an emotional shutdown, for the maximum for 60 seconds.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning Morrison will be able to make you feel completely emotionally numb for up to a minute.’

‘Christ.’ Lena cursed. Winston couldn’t help but agree. Now he put his hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into him as she exhaled slowly.

‘So that’s it, then,’ she spoke, trying to process everything she’d just been told. ‘I am to be at someone’s mercy once more.’

‘Well, that is the thing. Lena, I wanted you to have a choice. So here is your other option: I could try to modify the accelerator you have now. The problem with that is that I’ll have to work on it while you wear it.’

‘So if anything goes wrong...’ she followed along with his thought, but didn’t want to finish her sentence. She knew where this was going. She could take a chance, but the stakes were high as ever. She did not want to slip back into eternity. That much was certain.

‘Both operations have risks,’ Winston explained further, ‘but the risks are much lower when we simply swap the accelerators out. Add to that the fact that I know my own accelerator: once all this is over, I can easily take out the emotion module. You'd have a proper anchor again.'

Winton was taken aback by the way Lena narrowed his eyes at him. She looked from him to the accelerator, then back at him, eyes piercing.

'What does that mean, when all this is over?' 

'When-  oh. Nobody told you this, did they?' Winston rubbed his temples. He wasn't good with this sort of thing. He was far better with the technical side of things. Not the emotional implication side.

Lena quietly awaited his explanation. Somehow that was more terrifying than any battle.

'She's.. she's to be..' Winston shook his head and tried again, 'Morrison has been worrying all of us. His ideas, I mean.'

'He'll kill her.' Lena nodded, looking away. Her voice was completely devoid of emotion, and somehow that was even worse than if she'd freaked out about it. This cold, broken Lena was the exact opposite of what Winston had wanted to achieve. What both of them had wanted to achieve.

'She needs help. Desperately.' Lena finally said. 'There's still someone underneath that "Widowmaker" shell, Winston. I've seen it. I _know_.'

'I believe you,' Winston replied, 'I really do. But we don’t know what happened to her, hell, Angela's tried everything she could, and has done so for years. If there was a- a _cure_ , then I'm sure that Angela would have-'

' _I_ was the cure,' Lena interrupted him with a sharp gesture of her hand, 'she opened up to me. I could do it again.'

'Can you  cure her again within 24 hours?' Winston looked at her, seriously contemplating this option. Lena almost wailed in desperation.

'No, Winston, I need more time!' As if on cue, the light on her chest flickered. Both of them fell silent for a moment.

'Let's first work on you. Have you decided which route we'll take?' Winston asked. Lena firmly nodded.

'Give me yours. I can't take any more risks.'

 

A couple of bruises and a split lip later, Widowmaker was thrown into the interrogation seat. The little dark room had become familiar, almost pleasant to her now. It meant a change in the rhythm. A chance to find out more. She didn't even bother to squint against the harsh light that was shone on her face. The masked man, who was apparently Morrison, one of her targets, was present as always. Shuffling behind him in the shadows was the girl with the tattooed face. She was dangerous, but not exactly violent. Only when ordered to. She would not be a threat. In the other corner, Widowmaker could make out a mop of blonde hair. The doctor. Interesting.

'Name?' Morrison barked. This game again. She knew it by heart- unless she spiced things up.

Words from her conditioning echoed through her head. _Be unpredictable. Keep in control._

'Amélie Lacroix,' she answered without a moment's hesitation. The doctor gasped. Perfect.

'Name!' Morrison repeated, slamming his hand down. Widowmaker managed to twist her face into a pained expression.

' _Je suis Amélie Lacroix_.' Stone cold. No hesitation. The doctor whispered something to the guard woman, exchanging shocked looks.

'Fine. You want theatrics? You’ll get them.' Morrison barked as he pulled the chair towards himself and sat down, fingers interlaced on the table.

‘So you want to play the historical part of Gérard’s little wife. How very convenient,’ he sneered. Widowmaker met his gaze straight-on. ‘Unfortunately, I’ll have to play a more contemporary role. I’ve got here a list,’ he pulled out a stack of papers and dropped them on the table with a loud thud, ‘of your confirmed kills.’

‘I’m innocent,’ Widowmaker said, humour lacing her voice. The corners of her mouth curled up in a sharp little smile. Morrison didn’t see the humour in it.

‘Can we skip this?’

‘ _Non, monsieur._ ’

‘Look at the list.’ He shoved it towards her. After a few long seconds, Widowmaker picked up the stack of papers, thumbed through the pages. There were names, rows and rows of them, some of them familiar, others not so much. On the bottom edge of each page, there was a space left empty for a signature.

A confession form. They wanted her to confess to all of these kills.

‘They’re not mine,’ she shrugged, carelessly dropping the forms back on the table. ‘Ana Amari’s not on the list.’

The guard coughed violently in the corner. Morrison shifted slightly, but she couldn’t tell his expression through the mask. The doctor had not even flinched. That was unexpected.

‘That’s because captain Amari is still alive,’ Morrison drawled out the tones in “alive”, like a boasting child. Now it was Widowmaker’s turn to flinch.

‘Impossible,’ she hissed, hiding her clenched fists under the table as she tried to keep a straight face. She’d been _certain_ of this one. Reaper’s scolding voice echoed in her mind, telling her “You’re either losing your touch or losing your mind”, which did nothing to console her. The fact that she couldn’t immediately tell if it was a memory or a fragment of her imagination infuriated her even further.

‘And yet here we are, Widowmaker.’ She could hear the amusement in Morrison’s voice. The bastard. ‘Let me make it simple for you.’ He pulled an expensive-looking pen out of his pocket, and put it neatly next to the confession forms.

‘You sign those, and there’ll be something in it for you as well. You don’t, well then you die without getting anything. Your choice.’ Morrison dared to sound friendly about it. It made the whole situation more agitating.

‘What’s in it for me?’ Widowmaker decided to demand. Hell, she was going to get the most out of this. It wasn’t _her_ that was in a hurry, after all.

‘Something you want very much. Your memories.’

The silence was heavy. Widowmaker could feel the doctor’s stare on her, even though she couldn’t make out her expression. Her breath surged, but her heart was calm. She knew what to do.

‘What use are my memories to me if I am to die either way?’ Widowmaker heard the words leave her lips, and with it any desire she’d had. Stay in control. Don’t allow yourself a weakness. The guard put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. They whispered to another, then the doctor sharply shook her head.

‘Very well,’ Morrison stretched his shoulders, ‘I suppose we can be brief about these negotiations, then.’ He was about to get up when Widowmaker slammed her hand down on the forms.

‘Wait.’

Morrison, chuckling under his breath, deliberately slowly sat back down.

‘You’ve had your chance,’ he hissed quietly. Widowmaker leaned forward, tightening her grip on the forms. She felt emotions swerving through her hear chest, her head, and she willed them all away. It was better that way, quieter. She could think freely. Think of an escape, think of something that could aid her-

‘The girl goes free. Tracer.’ She’d said it before she’d realized what it meant. ‘No matter what happens. Swear it, and I’ll sign your thrice-damned forms.’ A shivering exhale. There was no regret.

Morrison chuckled deep in his chest. Theatrics indeed. The doctor’s eyes were so wide, they almost shone white in the dark corner.

Morrison picked up the pen to hand it to her.

‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for riding this emotional rollercoaster with me, the past months.  
> Welcome to the finale.
> 
> Edit; turns out I can't let you go just yet - there'll be a short epilogue

Angela pretended to write things down on her clipboard. She swirled the pen over the piece of paper, it was some form, she didn't even really check, as Fareeha held open the door for Morrison. He murmured curtly to her to have the captive ready for transport by the designated time, and then left. Fareeha patiently held open the door as his footsteps died away, waiting for Angela to stand.

'You leave that door open any longer, I think I'll take a walk as well,' Widowmaker sneered from the interrogation chair. Fareeha immediately let the door slam shut, leering at the assassin. The noise made Angela snap her head up.

There were many things she wanted to do. Mostly she simply wanted to run, take Fareeha and never, ever look back, but a part of her wanted to stay. Wanted to ask questions she hadn't dared to ask, hadn't allowed herself to even think. She slowly stood, but instead of turning towards the door, she turned towards the chair where Morrison had sat, across the captive Widowmaker.

'Fareeha, dear,' Angela took a deep breath, clutched her clipboard to her chest, 'would you give us a minute?'

'You- what.' Fareeha blinked in surprise. 'Are you sure?'

'It's just a minute. You can stand outside the door if you want.' Angela smiled at her, and tried to make it look genuine. She only half succeeded. From her peripheral she could see Widowmaker looking at the both of them, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

'Please?' Angela tried, and this time Fareeha nodded.

'Fine. But if I hear anything out of the ordinary, I'm coming in,' she stepped outside with a curt nod and a meaningful look to Angela. The doctor nodded in response.

She could feel Widowmaker's eyes following her as she slowly sat down at the interrogation table. The smart click of the door closing made the silence between them feel more defined, thicker than the air itself. Widowmaker decided to wait this one out, so she sat silently, simply taking in the doctor's delicate features.

'Did you not want them? Your memories?' Angela finally asked, when sitting in silence became too awkward. Widowmaker stared at her as she pursed her lips, thinking about an answer.

'No,' she said, sitting back in her chair, dragging out the word. Angela watched her calculating gaze, and tried to keep herself from reacting.

'Are you sure?' Angela pressed. She leaned forward, her fingers interlaced, placed elegantly on the table.

'Not for the price you offered,' Widowmaker answered, this time without skipping a beat. 'Are we making small talk?'

'Go ahead,' Angela nodded, ignoring the tingle of danger down her spine.

'How is your boyfriend?' The corners of Widowmaker's mouth curled up ever so slightly, but enough that Angela noticed. Widowmaker saw the doctor's fingers turn white as she'd suddenly clamped her fingers down, saw the tension set in her jaw.

'Dead.' Angela stated. She swallowed thickly, then relaxed her shoulders.

'How wonderful,' Widowmaker smiled wider now, 'we already have something in common. How easy it is to make friends nowadays.'

Angela glared at her, but forced herself to remain calm. It was working, which surprised even herself. She took a deep breath, and then forced her mouth into a polite smile.

'Listen here, Amélie. I'll tell you what happens.'

'I'm listening,' Widowmaker rolled her eyes as she added a sneering, 'this is all so exciting.'

'I am going to forgive you.' Angela said. Her blue eyes were piercing, and her voice hadn't wavered. She felt a rush of victory when she saw she'd caught the assassin off guard. Widowmaker narrowed her eyes, slowly shaking her head as if she'd misheard. When she'd nervously licked her lips, unsure of how to respond, Angela pressed further.

'You heard me. I am going to forgive you. For what you've done to him. For what you've done to all of us.' Angela slowly unclenched her hands and crossed her arms instead. She let her words sink in before continuing, 'and after that, I am going to move on. And you'll never have a place in my life again.'

'You are a very strange woman, doctor Ziegler. People have wanted to do many things to me, but forgiving me has never been one of them.' Widowmaker slid back on her chair, trying to make the distance between them as big as possible. Angela reacted by leaning forward, claiming a dominant position.

'You understand these are all entirely selfish reasons. However I don't see why I wouldn't, seeing as you will not be bothered by it after today.' Angela followed Widowmaker's eyes flicking from her face to the door and back. Widowmaker was calculating an escape route. Smiling, she brought a hand down upon Widowmaker's ice cold one, patronizingly patting it. 'Don't even think about it, _Süße._ Pharah is still outside. You make a noise, she will be _inside_.'

It was a sick satisfaction to watch Widowmaker grind her teeth in frustration, Angela thought to herself. But it felt good to finally be in control. Perhaps Zenyatta did have a point after all, and all this might be beneficial in the end. Even if it weren't, at least she would have tried. It was a step forward.

'What do you want from me?' Widowmaker snarled.

'I am going to help you. It's part of the process.'

'And if I don't want your help?' Widowmaker hissed. Angela took a deep breath. She found that keeping calm was actually far more pleasant than letting her emotions run rampant. A valuable exercise.

'Then you don't know how you lost your memory and both you and Lena remain miserable.'

The silence that fell was once again heavy. Angela chewed on the inside of her cheek and tried not to grin as Widowmaker slowly untensed. She'd mentioned the magic word. Perhaps what had been between the two women ran deeper than at first glance had seemed.

'What does Lena have to do with this?' Widowmaker seemed a little forlorn, all of a sudden.

'Everything. So let me ask you again, would you like to know what transpired before you arrived here?'

Widowmaker felt betrayed by her own feelings as she leaned forward, bitter defeat slightly soothed by the prospect of some light in the haze of her mind. She considered the option that the doctor would feed her lies, but the chances were slim. She'd have little use for it. The reason she'd been given, of being granted forgiveness, somehow made sense.

She looked more like Amélie than Widowmaker as she mouthed a desperate yes.

 

Lena had opted to close herself off from the operation. Not necessarily because there would be any pain, there shouldn't be, unless Talon had welded the accelerator straight into her, but more to keep herself from panicking. She wanted to avoid making a sudden movement and having Winston make a mistake as a result from it. So she wore a sleeping mask and big, old-fashioned headphones, blearing some music that wasn't entirely her style. At least it was distracting enough that she didn't notice much about what was going on around her.

She wasn't sure about how much time had passed when she felt a tap on her shoulder. After a moment, the headphones were pulled off her ears and she removed the sleeping mask herself. She looked straight into Winston's broad smile as she sat up.

'And?' she asked, looking down at her chest. Winston rummaged with some equipment.

'Everything went without a hitch.' Winston wrung his hands and rolled his shoulders to try and release some of the tension. 'I've removed your Talon accelerator and replaced it with mine. If you want, you can look at your old one. It's over on the desk.'

Curiosity had always been one of Lena's weak points, however the first thing she did was run her hands over her new accelerator. Even though she'd had complete trust in Winston, it was still an immense relief to know everything went well. And there would be no time limit to this anchor. The other problems, well, she would deal with those later.

Lena walked over to the desk, only to find Morrison already there. He inspected some pieces of the Talon accelerator up close, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.

'Commander,' Lena greeted him. Her instinct immediately told her to tread carefully, even though technically she had nothing to fear. Morrison nodded in greeting.

'Oxton. How are you feeling?'

'Fine, sir. Better than before, actually.' Lena heard herself say the words, but felt they weren't entirely untrue. It was just that Morrison's appearance had carried with it all her worries from before, which she'd temporarily forgotten. On the other hand, there would be no better moment to confront him than now.

'Good, good,' Morrison said absentmindedly, picking up another piece and muttering under his breath, 'Reyes, you son of a bitch...'

'Found anything interesting in this machine?' Lena's eyes darted over the old accelerator. She didn't particularly feel like touching it. Winston joined them on the other side of the table.

'Some interesting functions as far as I could see. Shielding, communications, long distance teleportation.. very advanced tech. We might have underestimated their intelligence,' he explained, calmly pointing out the different modules. 'I suspect this might be the timing device, but it seems to have been disabled. The entire accelerator did shut down the moment we disconnected it, so it was a good thing we had the replacement ready to go.'

'How did you keep me here if it shut down?' Lena's eyes grew wide at the news, and involuntarily she grasped hold of her anchor.

'My new model has some improvements,' Winston pushed his glasses back up his nose and broke into a proud smile. 'You won't need to wear this anchor all the time, necessarily. As long as you stay close to it, you'll be fine.' As an afterthought he added, 'I wouldn't take it off outside the safety of the base though.'

'Whoa,' Lena said, at a loss for a more articulate response. Morrison nodded approvingly.

'Well, fantastic. That gets this show on the road.' Morrison dusted off his hands, then turned to Lena. 'I need you ready to go in 30 minutes. Here's your speech, I advise you to read it through on the way. It's of vital importance that you come across as trustworthy. There's a proper uniform for you in your room.'

'Speech for what?' Lena asked, as she clumsily took the papers that Morrison shoved at her. He turned to grab his coat and ignored the question. Lena was frozen, for a moment uncertain what to do. Morrison took a step towards the door and was then stopped by Winston, a broad smile on his face as he blocked the entrance. Lena suddenly realized she'd never seen Winston fake a smile before and that it was an absolutely terrifying sight.

'Lena asked you something,' Winston said, his voice deliberately deep. Morrison straightened his shoulders, and for a moment simply stared the gorilla down. Then he sighed through his nose and turned on his heel, back towards the girl.

'Come again,' he ordered. He tapped his left foot impatiently.

' _What's the speech for_ ,' Lena made sure to clearly articulate every syllable. She stared into the red visor, but felt as she was just looking at a screen, not a being that still bore traces of humanity.

'Widowmaker's execution,' Morrison then said, lips pressed into a thin line behind his mask, his voice completely flat. Then he stiffly put a hand on Lena's shoulder. 'You're going to reinstate Overwatch.' After a short pause, he added a dry, 'Congratulations.'

Lena's mouth dried out completely. She felt like a stone had been placed in her gut that dragged her down, until her knees were wobbly and an unprecedented cold spread through her lungs. As she failed to form any words to respond, Morrison again turned on his heel, aiming to exit the room. Winston dared not block him a second time.

 

Fareeha despised waiting.

She glanced at her watch. In fifteen minutes, she needed to have Widowmaker detained and restrained for transport. She also should have been back in her cell an hour ago. For what seemed to be the thousandth time, Fareeha pressed her ear against the door. She could hear Angela's soft, ringing voice, speaking calmly.

Nothing about this situation made her feel at ease. In fact, everything about this situation indicated that something was going horribly wrong. The thing that gnawed at her mind was _what_. Either letting Angela in there for an hour had been a horrible mistake, or what she was about to do in fifteen minutes would be. She simply couldn't figure out which was the truth, and honestly didn't feel much like waiting to find out.

'Five minutes,' she told herself, shifting her weight from her heels to the balls of her feet and back in an impatient wiggle. 'Five more minutes and I'm going in.'

The seconds ticked by impossibly slow. At last she caved at three minutes and fourty-seven seconds, and opened the door. To her relief, she didn't find a bloodbath inside. Angela sat back in her chair, legs comfortably crossed. The woman across from her rubbed her temples with slender blue fingers.

'I'm sorry for barging in,' Fareeha said, more to announce her presence than for actually being sorry about it. Angela turned and smiled at her.

'It's not a problem,' she gestured at Widowmaker, 'we were just about finished.'

'Right,' Fareeha answered, resisting the urge to ask what the hell was going on. She snatched a pair of handcuffs from her belt and held them up for Widowmaker, 'Going to have to put these on you. Should I bother with asking if you're going to cooperate?'

The assassin simply nodded, and meekly crossed her arms behind her back. Fareeha's eyebrows raised in surprise, and she gave Angela an impressed look as she locked the shackles. The doctor simply shrugged, feigning innocence.

'I have one more question,' Widowmaker suddenly looked up, completely ignoring Fareeha as she sought contact with Angela. 'Can I see her? Just once more?'

'Lena is currently getting her anchor replaced, I don't know when she'll get out,' Angela thought out loud, and stopped speaking when Fareeha laughed incredulously.

'What, you want to say goodbye?'

Fareeha's words hung heavy in the air. Angela's face suddenly fell, and she didn't know where to keep her hands. Widowmaker slowly turned her head towards her guard. Fareeha only now noticed how lifeless, and glossed over her eyes seemed. Whatever spark had been there before had been extinguished completely.

'Something like that,' Widowmaker spoke slowly. She looked like she wanted to add something, but decided against it.  

'I don't -,' Fareeha started, but then she caught Mercy's gaze. She suddenly felt again the anguish she'd felt after Genji's death, as she'd held the sobbing doctor in her grief. Remembered how Angela had begged for a chance to say goodbye at least, something, anything other than the cruel parting it had been. Remembered how she herself had done the same when she was a little girl, screaming and crying at Gabriel Reyes as he told her that her mother had been shot. She'd begged for anything else, that it was a dream or a prank or a cruel test of character. And then she'd wished that the day would just end, that she'd wake up and everything would be fine again.

She could imagine Widowmaker doing the exact same thing after her husband's demise. It wasn't like it would change anything. Defeated, she sighed.

'I don't think that's unreasonable, but I don't make the rules.' Fareeha shot Angela an apologetic look. 'I've got to get you ready to leave.'

'And then?'

'And then we'll see. Just behave, please.'

 

The clean uniform was stiff, and freshly pressed. As promised, it was in a neat stack on her bed. It was a strange blessing for Lena to be able to take off the chronal accelerator as she got dressed, to simply button up the navy shirt without fussing to get under the machine. Lena looked at herself in the small bathroom mirror and with a grimace, pulled her cracked goggles out of her hair. Perhaps, she could ask Winston to repair those too, later. It was strangely soothing to have mundane problems like these. It gave her the illusion she could escape what was about to happen. She ran a hand through her unruly hair and gave up on trying to tidy it.

The speech was left on the bedside table. She had looked it over, fleetingly, but the words were too painful to take in. Morrison had written her entire ordeal up as a tragic, heroic adventure. As if it had been an organized plan, full of self-sacrifice, instead of pure self-preservation with unexpectedly pleasant company.

Lena slumped down on the bed, wiping her face, in a futile attempt to straighten herself out. She found herself wondering what the hell she'd gotten herself into. Hadn't this been the plan all along? Get Overwatch back?

She was suddenly reminded of the first night she'd spent with the assassin, how she'd been driven by hatred, been planning to hurt her from the beginning. And yet now she could only remember the quiet gasps and the long fingers in her hair and the way Widowmaker had slept innocently at her side. It was useless, thinking like this. Where had she gone wrong?

She glanced at the clock. Time to go. She ran her hand once more through her hair and with a disgusted 'tsk' grabbed the printed speech. She'd read it on the way there.

As she stepped outside, the ankle bracelet made a high-pitched noise. Godforsaken thing. She'd rip it off if it made another sound. Further on the driveway, she spotted Angela, dressed to the nines, walking up to a black van. The car beeped as Angela pointed at it with a remote, flashing its lights to indicate it unlocking. Right behind her, Fareeha followed, lightly holding Widowmaker. Whereas this morning, Widowmaker had been all fight, now she seemed dispirited, obediently following along where her guard led her.

Right before they reached the van, she suddenly looked up. Lena stared right at her, and Fareeha only took a fraction of a second to notice what was happening. She immediately tightened her hold, which Widowmaker began to struggle violently against, crying out. She trashed in Fareeha's grip, but the Egyptian had the advantage - using the assassin's shackles to twist her arms further and work her to the ground. Lena sprinted forward, her heart in her throat, and as she came closer, she could make out the words.

'Lena!' Widowmaker cried, putting everything she had into looking up at Lena, who came sprinting at the scène, 'You promised to let me see her, you- _Lena!_ '

It took a second to register in her mind, but when it did, it was like lightning had struck in her brain.

_She called me Lena._

'Widowmaker!', Lena responded just as loudly, blinking forward, disappearing in a flash of blue. Meanwhile Angela had opened the door to the back of the van, and Pharah was trying, and succeeding, to wrestle Widowmaker inside the vehicle. She closed the door with a slam right as Lena appeared, making Lena almost crash into her.

'Fareeha-,' Lena started, but she wasn't sure what to say. Something along the lines of "how could you do that", but she was the one who needed to be kept in line, not Fareeha. It was unfair of her to ask her that.

'Will you _please_ try not to startle her?' Fareeha muttered as she dusted off her uniform, 'She's stronger than she looks.'

'I didn't- look, she called me "Lena", alright?' Lena tried to explain, decidedly ignoring how pathetic it sounded, 'That's a breakthrough! She hasn't done that since- since I.. you know.'

'Yes, we know,' Angela huffed, straightening her back. She looked very uncomfortable. 'And so does she.'

'She- _What?'_ Lena gasped, and then she felt the hairs on her neck stand up, a shiver going down her spine. She slowly looked to the right, at the reinforced window in the back of the van. Two amber eyes stared back at her, dangerously narrowed, lighting up like a cat's in the dark.

An old feeling settled back in her heart. It took her a long moment, but then she recognized it. She knew where she'd seen that look before: on a rooftop in London, with a gun aimed at her chest, almost a lifetime ago.

 

The ride to the courtroom took a substantial amount of time, though how much, Widowmaker couldn't tell exactly. She calmly sat in the back of the van, would have fidgeted with her too-large overalls if her hands hadn't been bound. The image of the girl's face burned into her mind as she mulled over the doctor's words. She'd had her plan ready: have the girl cause a disturbance, flee the scène, but it seemed this hearing was not to be a small affair. It complicated simple escape missions. And then there's what Ziegler had told her - which had turned quite a few tables.

Widowmaker, frustrated, tried to recall if she'd ever been forced into a complete wipe before. The fact that nothing came to mind, probably meant the answer was yes. And while she felt something akin to anger, there was also something else. Something she couldn't place.

She'd been _comfortable_ with the girl around. Lena. The name tasted familiar on her tongue though she didn't remember genuinely using it. The girl'd known how to press her buttons and how to soothe her. She hadn't seemed afraid of her at all, which was unusual, and she'd tested it many times. Everything pointed to the fact that yes, they had in fact been close. Why, she didn't know. The girl got on her nerves constantly, and yet - her _absence_ seemed to be more unpleasant than her constant annoyances.

The sun fell through the window in the back door of the van, speckled by the shadows of trees along the road. Widowmaker watched the patterns skate over her skin, watched her blue arms momentarily glow gold.

Lena had made her feel. Lena had taught her how to laugh, how to swallow the acid of anger and jealously, how to deal with the agonizing itch that was boredom and frustration.

And apparently, Lena had _loved_ her. The notion seemed a little ridiculous. Love was not something that was a part of an assassin's life. And especially not a part of hers.

The sunrays warmed her skin, and for a moment, it was almost like some colour had returned to her hands. It brought a pitiful smile to Widowmaker's face. She didn't want to admit it, but Lena had made her feel human.

So she'd take a chance on her. If worst came to worst, the outcome was clear, looming darker over her as the day progressed. If she succeeded, however...

They could get away. Widowmaker would ask her everything, finally find out the truth. Take the girl somewhere where they could never be found, just the two of them.

She'd have time to figure out why that thought made her heart beat so fast.

 

Lena looked over the crowded courtroom as she heard the words leave her mouth, but didn't register what they meant. She held the papers in her quivering hands, sometimes glanced down to see where to pick up her sentence. The wooden speech podium elevated her slightly above the crowd, and yet she felt incredibly small. She could see, to her left, Widowmaker, surrounded by four heavily armed guards. They had connected her electronic shackles to a slot in the holding bench, but that didn't stop her from thrashing like a wild animal. Only after one of the guards had administered a shock, had she calmed down, and resorted to glaring daggers at Lena.

She swallowed a thick lump, before she continued to speak, scanning the room with her eyes. Long rows of oakwood benches in an arch formation lined the walls. There were marble pillars reaching to the heavily decorated ceiling, velvet drapes on the left, covering high windows. She let her gaze drift over the crowds, looked at the ministers, officials, officers and press. In the front row, Angela nodded encouragingly, Fareeha at her side. Behind them, Ana, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Winston had stayed behind, because he didn't want to cause a fuss. Morrison sat leaned forward, his gaze flicking from Lena to the officials on the other side.

The back line of the room was lined with armed guards. Lena stared back at her papers.

The lights above her flickered, and then went out completely. A disapproving hum went through the crowd, the slits between the curtains suddenly the only light source. A security guard left the room, and a moment later the lights flickered back on. Lena coughed, and tried to pick up her story. It took her a second, she craved some water for her aching throat. She looked back at the crowd.

This time, she saw the purple spark run over the ceiling before the lights went out a second time. Instinctively, she teased a hand over her guns. In the corner of her eye, she could see that Widowmaker had stiffened, frozen in place. Something was off.

Then black smoke trailed in from under the doors on both sides of the room. What started as mildly noticeable to the people in the back rows, escalated in a matter of seconds to mayhem. Panic had started to set in the crowd. Lena she saw the flash of lights from mobile phones, the glow of weapons being drawn. She heard the cries of 'Fire!' and 'We're being attacked!', but stood frozen on her stage.

In the ruckus, she suddenly heard a whisper, to others lost in the crowd, but to her unmistakably clear.

'Gabriel,' Widowmaker stared wide-eyed into the mist. Her heart sank a little, and her fingers clenched around her guns.

A moment later, the doors swung open, letting in a storm of Talon mercenaries, swarming in like black insects. They mowed down the last line of people in seconds and then opened fire. People screamed, tumbled over each other in blind panic. In the middle of the room, Reaper solidified, shotguns drawn, spinning around and making short work of everyone in his reach. Lena saw a flash of his pale skull-like mask before she ducked behind the wooden podium. It would not hold bullets for long, but it might keep her out of sight. She heard the cries from the crowd, those who weren't wailing in pain were screaming in fear.

Chaos was too understated a word. Lena ducked away, drawing her blasters. She rolled out of cover, aimed for a mercenary, hit him square in the chest. Reaper hovered above them like a true angel of death, ending all those who came close to him. She saw Morrison charge at Reaper, Fareeha shielding Angela in a corner. People running amok, falling over themselves and others, forced her to roll over to the other side. Government guards had entered the room, tried to keep civilians down and shoot at the intruders. It was hard to discern friend from foe in the-half dark.

'Lena!' Widowmaker writhing against her bonds, trying to keep out of gunfire. 'I need you!'

Without a second of hesitation, Lena blinked out towards her, and with a single well-aimed shot destroyed the shackles. The next moment Widowmaker vaulted over the holding bench, as she yanked Lena by the collar and pulled her close. Together they rolled behind the speech podium, momentarily out of reach of the gunfire. Lena found herself half under Widowmaker, shielded from any damage, as the woman wrung one of her guns out of her hand. With the other hand, she pulled Lena close, her lips almost brushing the shell of her ear.

'Do you still love me?'

Lena knew the answer. When she looked up into those blazing amber eyes, she knew for sure. Suddenly, the dangerous act all made sense. None of them had suspected a thing, that she'd work together with a woman who looked like she could murder her any moment. This time, Widowmaker had planned it all along.

'Forever,' Lena promised. Certainty had never felt so good. And when Widowmaker _smiled_ at her, she felt her heart sing.

'Then let's go,' Widowmaker grinned, then rolled out of cover, took two men out with Lena's gun. Lena could see the exhilaration on her face like never before.

She rolled out to the other side, for a moment unsure who to aim for. Hurting the Overwatch team was not an option, but she'd basically just joined Talon - so their mercenaries were out of the question too. Reaper had made a path towards the hallway, and now gestured for Widowmaker to follow. Lena noticed a quick girl with a streak of bright purple in her hair run out in front of them. Morrison's hoarse voice over the crowd, 'after them!' Lena blinked forward, following Reaper out the room, into the long hallways. There were bodies strewn all over the place, but Lena didn't have time to think, didn't feel the horror as she ran. Her heart rushed in her ears and she felt intensely free.

'Here's your tech,' the purple girl said as she appeared next to Widowmaker, handing her a gunmetal bracer while never slowing down their pace, 'welcome back, _caramelo_.'

' _Merci_ , Sombra,' Widowmaker took the bracer with a grin, putting it on as she followed Reaper up the stairs. Lena followed close behind, ducking for the repressive fire from further down the hall. Sombra disappeared as suddenly as she'd appeared.

They ran into a wide open hall, the stained glass windows reaching high up to the ceiling. Lena could see a balcony on the other side of the hall. From the side, what seemed to be an entire platoon of guards flowed into the room, attempting to surround them. This time, Lena did not hesitate. She took aim and fired, taking out the guards closest to her. She could see Sombra sneaking past them, taking a few out from behind, Reaper taking them down left and right, but there were just so many. Too many. He seemed to share her thoughts.

Reaper vanished into thick smoke and appeared up on the balcony, shotguns never letting up. Once the dull click of one indicated it was empty, he threw it through the window behind him. It shattered with a terrifying crack, raining down shards of glass. Lena felt a sharp tug and then she was pressed against Widowmaker's chest, who extended her grapple to the railing of the balcony. Lena knew what to do.

She wrapped her arms around Widowmaker and boosted them up with a blink. They swung up, dodging the glass, before another blink sent them over the railing of the balcony. Widowmaker rolled off of her, shooting her a look of genuine enjoyment, only lasting a fraction of a second. A frustrated growl from down in the hall, which Lena suddenly recognized as Morrison, who was unloading bullets by the dozen on the Talon mercenaries.

Lena counted in her head. Morrison was in the hall, Pharah and Mercy were still in the courtroom, Winston was home...

She jumped through the window, flew through the air and landed on the flat roof a story lower. Reaper took the lead, quickly escorting them over the rooftops. Sombra was on his heels, a chipper laugh on her breath. Lena wanted to laugh too, to sing the elation she felt. They'd done it, she was _free-_

Then a moment later the feeling was gone. Her accelerator hummed loudly, and she clutched her chest as she came to stumbling stop. Over her shoulder, she could see Morrison in the remains of the shattered window, a black remote in his hand. Winston's words echoed in her head. No emotions, no emotions, then why couldn't she _run_?

Lena looked at her shaking hands as her mind had emptied, as if a sinkhole had opened and sucked all life from her with it. She tried to think rationally, but her head was full of cotton wool, a surging sound in her ears. She gasped for breath, tore at her chest, at her throat -

_No heartbeat_.

Her knees buckled under her and had she not been wiped clean of emotion, she would have been terrified. It was an otherworldly experience to realize that she should be terrified but wasn't. That she felt her body shut down without a single care to give. The Talon group ran ahead, and for a moment that was fine, they had what they came for. The rhythmic thumping of their feet on the rooftop surface was oddly soothing. Lena wanted to close her eyes to the sound, lie down right here, see if Morrison would kill her like this.

Something changed in the rhythm. Lena looked up to see Widowmaker, standing still, weighing her options. On her face was an expression of shock.

She turned on her heel and ran back. "Where are you going?", Lena asked in thought, "why aren't you running?"

Shouts from Sombra, Reaper agitatedly pulling new shotguns from nothingness. She could see them aim behind her, at the commander in the windowsill. Widowmaker shouted Lena's name. Fell to her knees in front of her, holding the girl up. She clamped her hands around Lena's cheeks, eyes frantically searching for what was wrong.

Lena gasped and coughed, tried to focus on Widowmaker's eyes, her lips, her soft voice. Her chest started to really hurt now, her lungs burning with every shallow inhale.

'What are you doing?' Widowmaker's brows furrowed with concern, with determination as she held Lena upright. 'We are leaving, Lena, I'm not leaving you-'

Perhaps they saw the glittering of metal in the window at the same time. A shock of white hair behind the long barrel of a sniper rifle.

A thundercrack splitting the sky, with roaring silence following it.

Lena's heart restarted with a shock that coursed through her core, and with it came a wave of unimaginable grief. She reached out for Widowmaker, whose lifeless body slumped forward and fell into her embrace.

 

A dark, cold, spacious room. Tiled floors and walls, A single chair, equipped with hoses and wires and a opaque visor, all in black. Cast-iron shackles around bruised wrists, eyes sore and burning from endless tears. The metal cool against her heated skin. She craves water for her sandpapery throat.

'Are you sure you want this?' he asks, his hand hovering over the controls. She can hear the grief in his deep voice, now that she knows him.

'I can't live like this,' Lena whispers, 'take them from me, Gabriel. I don't want to feel anymore.'

'Doing this won't bring her back, kid,' he says after a moment of consideration. 'It won't solve any of your problems.' He knows the pain she feels. He's felt it many times, but now again it tugs in his chest, grief as sharp as a dagger. Still, he wants to try and talk her out of it, though he knows she's stubborn.

Lena doesn't reply. She forces down a choked sob, and then shakes her head.

'Erase them. All of them,' she commands. He obliges.

With a rasping sound in his throat, he turns on the machine. He doesn't look at her, he can't bring himself to, but he hears her cries as he walks away. He never thought he'd be in control of that machine again. The thought hurts him in several ways. In thoughts, he asks for forgiveness. First from Lena, then from _her_.

Lena screams until her lungs give out.

 

It is five days later when Angela loads a hastily packed suitcase into her car, her left arm in plaster, held with a sling. Her breath comes out in cold puffs, and she tries to pull her jacket closed with her good hand. The gravel under her feet creaks with a thin layer of ice, which is starting to melt under the first rays of the sunrise. Most of the light comes from the car itself and the one lit lamp in Angela's apartment.

'Do we need to bring your medical equipment?' Fareeha asks, shaken, as she brings a last packed carrier outside.  She has hardly slept for days , and wears dark bags under her eyes.

' _Schei_ _ß_ _e_ , yes, would you please-' Angela asks, but Fareeha runs back into the house before she's even done speaking. The trunk is full with both of their suitcases, so Angela slams it shut with her good arm. She wants to go. Now rather than later. A shiver runs down her spine, which she blames on the cold. Thankfully, none of the neighbours seem to have woken just yet.

She tries to wipe the condensation off the rear window of the car. Through the haze, she can now see a person stand in front of the headlights. Eyebrows furrowed, she steps to the side and uprights herself, then almost chokes on her own breath.

Lena stands in front of the car, carrying a heavy rifle. Her accelerator is smaller than before, now but a single light on her chest, a compact addition to the dark harness she wears. It glows a threatening red, accentuating the shadows on her face, her hallowed cheeks and deep-set eyes. Cyanosis has started to set in on her fingers, colouring them a pale blue. She seems almost ghostly, sometimes fading in and out in places, the image of her flickering like a glitch.

'Lena,' Angela stammers, the sight making fearful nausea bubble in her gut. Any other questions are caught in her throat.

'Where is he,' Lena asks, monotonously.

When Angela doesn't respond, she clarifies, 'where is Morrison?' She flickers in and out of being as she steps closer, fingers curling around the grip of the rifle. Angela instinctively looks back to see if Fareeha has come down yet, but doesn't dare to scream.

'I don't know,' she gasps, on the verge of sobbing.

'Are you in contact with him?' Lena's voice has a metallic quality to it, strained and broken.

'Y-yes, I could,' Angela tries to walk backwards, tears streaming down her face now, '-could contact him.' She stops moving as Lena aims the rifle at her.

'Then you do that. You tell him I'm on his trail. That I'll find him.

I have all the time in the world.'


	19. Epilogue

It was wrong. It was wrong to float back, through space, sailing back against the clock, just to see her again. They'd said so, the scientists. That it was _wrong_ and _unnatural_.

Wrong did not have much meaning to Lena anymore. Nothing had much meaning to her anymore, except _her_. Tracer flickered out of existence in one place, reappeared in another. Sometimes the scènes were familiar, sometimes not. Most of the time she sailed randomly, with little control over where she ended up. She'd ghost around and sail further back or faster forward. She'd hover, unseen, unheard by anyone. She'd thrown over a vase in Angela's house years ago. Not with any particular reason, but just to see if she could.

And here she was. Hovering outside a bustling Overwatch base. She saw the sun raining down generously and beautiful trees in bloom, but it did nothing to her. She couldn't enjoy nor despise it, it was simply.. there.

Then the door slid open and _she_ walked out, happily laughing, clinging to a tall man with dark hair. She simply watched as the pair passed her, could have reached out to touch her hair, but she didn't. She watched the familiar sway of her hips and heard the ringing of her laughter. So carefree. Lena realized her former self might have cried, but she didn't. She only let out a choked sound as Gérard held open the passenger door of their car, afraid Amélie would leave so soon.

Amélie stopped halfway her getting in the car and leaned on the doorframe, looking over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow slightly as she tries to pinpoint to source of the sound, but she doesn't see anything.

'What is the problem?' Gérard asks, curiosity lacing his voice. She waves away his question.

'Nothing, I- I thought I heard something,' she resolutely turns again and gets into the car, focusing her attention back to her would-be husband. Lena bit her lower lip, and imagined the physical pain she felt was worse than the one stabbing her in the chest. It dragged her back, back through time to a chair in an old-fashioned kitchen.

'There you are,' Gabriel said in a deep voice. He pretended it was just a statement, but she could hear concern weighing on him.

'Yes,' she answered. She flickered in and out of this timeline and didn't feel like putting in the effort to materialize completely. The traveling was like a pleasant daydream. A daydream where the possibilities were still endless. Where things had not yet gone so... wrong.

When she appeared again, she could see Reaper crouching in front of her, approaching her at eye-level. He didn't wear his mask, hadn't done so for days. She'd heard him destroying things in his cell late at night.

'Hey, Slipstream,' Gabriel tried again, in a hopeful attempt to make some sort of contact. For a moment, it worked. Lena materialized in her chair, slumped, like a ragdoll thrown in a corner. She frowned.

'Don't call me that,' Her voice was flat, but decisive.

'You should stop timeshifting all over the place. It's too much of a strain on your body,' Gabriel said, completely ignoring her complaint, then grabbed her chin and turned her head from side to side, inspecting her face. 'You don't look so good.'

'I don't feel so good,' Lena answered, head limply falling to the side as soon as he let go. His deep sigh caused another of those sharp pains in her chest, though much less intense.

'You should eat something,' he decided. She shook her head.

'I can't.'

'Why not?'

'I miss her.' The words rung through the kitchen, only quietly disturbed by the one pot heating on the stove. He shoved his hands into the worn pockets of his trousers.

'I know,' he stared at his shoes, tapped his toes against the tiles. 'She used to complain about the same things. Strong emotions still bleeding through. Or maybe all emotions seem stronger because there's nothing to compare them with, who knows.'

After that, a silence fell. Gabriel stared for a moment at the limp girl in the chair across from him, then straightened his legs and went to stir the pot. When he lifted the lid, a pleasant smell filled the room. Something like pumpkin soup. Lena was unaffected.

'Sombra's coming home tonight,' he continued, trying to divert their thoughts. 'You'll have some company. It'll be good for you.'

'I have company now,' Lena remarked. He sighed in response.

' _Better_ company,' he corrected himself. Lena pursed her lips as she thought.

'"Home"?' she then asked, eyebrows slightly raised. She could hear Reaper slowly getting aggravated.

'You know,' he settled to answer, biting his tongue. Cheeky brat.

Lena simply nodded.

 

It took Lena almost all night to finish a mug of soup. She might have faded out a couple of times, but it only earned her a glare from Gabriel. He'd quietly sat in his place, sometimes picking up a newspaper, and putting it back down without ever reading a word.

'Did you save me some dinner?' a chirpy voice from the hallway, then Sombra turned the corner and peeked inside. A smile lit up her face as she scanned the kitchen, 'oh! Everyone's here.'

'Help yourself,' Gabriel said, grateful for a legitimate reason to set his newspaper back down. Sombra, instead of walking towards the food, flopped down in the chair next to Lena and crossed her ankles on the table. Lena momentarily focused enough to watch the wordless exchange that happened, where Gabriel leered at Sombra, then at her feet, then back at her face. Sombra smiled and batted her eyelids, before letting out an altogether too sweet sounding 'please?'. Gabriel stood with a huff and went to collect her a mug and pour her some soup. Sombra draped her arm over the backrest of Lena's seat, and squeezed Lena's bicep gently.

'And you? How you doin'?'

'Don't you know?' Lena asked humourlessly. It earned her a genuine chuckle.

'Of course I do, _chica_ ,' Sombra winked, then smiled at Gabriel as he set down a mug of soup and some bread for her, 'thanks, dad.'

He grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled an empty chair closer to him to rest his ankles on, mirroring Sombra's languid pose. Sombra took a bite of her bread.

'So, now what?' she asked through a mouthful. Gabriel opened his mouth to scold her at the same time Lena tried to say something, in a much quieter voice. Sombra quickly hushed him.

'Quiet, Gabe- the lady speaks. What was that, Tracer?'

'Now we kill Morrison,' Lena repeated. A moment later, Gabriel added, 'can't argue with that.'

Sombra smiled gleefully before leaning back, an air of arrogance on her face. She waved her bread around as she spoke. 'So I guess nothing has changed about the _grand plan_ then. How utterly uninteresting. But- speaking of Overwatch. I got you something, Slipstream.'

'That's not my name,' Lena argued again, the annoyance in her voice but invisible on her face. Sombra shrugged in fake innocence as she exclaimed, 'why not? I like it!'

'What about Overwatch,' Gabriel interjected. Both of the girls could tell he was using his Reaper voice- which meant he was running low on patience. Sombra coughed, waiting for silence to speak just a few moments too long, a knowing grin on her face. She thoroughly enjoyed having their complete focus on her.

'Well, I paid them a little visit. Nothing grand, of course, and I couldn't take much without them noticing, but..' she dug into the pocket of her jacket, and brought her hand back up, something small clamped in her fist, '..I thought you should be the one to have this.'

Lena stared at Sombra's balled fist, that she held over the table. When she made no indication to move, Sombra sighed, 'hold out your hand.'

Slowly, Lena lifted her right arm, opened her palm to receive whatever Sombra was holding. With a giggle, Sombra placed her empty hand over Lena's eyes and then carefully slid a golden wedding band around Lena's ring finger.

'I didn't want them to keep this, I guess-' Sombra shrugged as she removed the hand blocking Lena's vision, then frowned, 'Smack me, Gabe, I'm getting sentimental.'

'I will,' he answered, eyes dangerously narrowed, 'for sneaking into an Overwatch base without backup _and_ without telling me.'

'What, it went fine, relax.' Sombra retorted, her voice singsongy as if she wanted to stick out her tongue at him. Then she turned back to Lena and crossed her arms. 'So now you can like, be her widow or something.'

Gabriel threw his hands in the air in exasperation, but before he could yell at the hacker, Lena cradled her hand close to her chest, staring at the ring. A sob escaped her, and then another.

'Thank you,' she whispered, trying very hard to keep her composure, but grief washed over her in waves. 'Thank you, Sombra, thank you...'

' _Dios mio,_ here come the waterworks,' Sombra rolled her eyes, but then scooted her chair a little closer to wrap both her arms around the quivering brunette, 'alright, alright, get over here you..'

Gabriel swiftly stood up to leave the room, giving them some privacy. He'd been right, Sombra _was_ far better company than he'd ever be.


End file.
